Touched By Magic
by JaimeJabs
Summary: After the death of the notorious Sirius Black, Harry is faced with many choices. He could; give into depression and grow what little beard he could while cursing the fates; rebel against the master and fight wars at two front; or adapt and grow. The story of Harry becoming the man he's always meant to be.
1. Mindful

July 12, 1996

In a dark room in a small town, Harry Potter was meditating. He was trying to meditate. Sort of. He was trying to learn how to occlude his mind.

 _Clear your mind!_

It was not working all that well thanks to the constant flashes of his short life he experienced. He was sure this was not a part of the _mythical_ concept of normal in relation to the Mind Arts. Then again, he was sure his whole existence was a convoluted ' _fuck you'_ to normalcy.

 _Maybe I should strike_ normal _from my dictionary. It would save time and effort._

His room was exceptionally tidy today as he was about to get released from his prison. Only two books were out of place; _When Bad Things Happen To Good People_ and _Miracle of Mindfulness_.

The first was a book Hermione sent on the third day of his... vacation to help him combat the crushing depression setting in after Sirius' death.

 _You have to love that girl. She'll find a solution to death in one of her books one day._

And yes, he was sceptical, but it helped. It helped Harry put a name to the emotional rollercoaster he was experiencing for the past year; Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It helped Harry accept his depression and try to move on.

And that was why he was reading the second book. It was a book on tips for self-awareness and meditation.

After the failure of last year's _end of the year adventure,_ Harry had combed through the Hogwarts Library top to bottom on any books on Mind Arts. He had found none. Turns out, both _Occlumency_ and _Legilimency_ were near impossible to find in books. To learn both talents, you would need a master of the art.

Dumbledore learned from Flamel. Snape learned from Dumbledore.

When Harry found out about this, he had cursed whoever taught Tom Riddle for three days straight.

So, he went to a bookstore to buy a book on meditation. This book had two types of meditation techniques; one required the practitioner to move in slow, precise motions and focus on their breathing, the other required you to sit still. The first was a combination of fighting techniques and dance moves. The second was a sore arse.

With the first one, Harry needed to focus his mind outward, focus on his environment. It worked great for Harry. After every practice, he was calmer, freer and lighter than ever, and he was more aware.

The other needed Harry to close his eyes and turn his focus inward. It had a side-effect. He kept seeing - more like re-living - snippets of his life. It felt similar to when Snape used to tore through his mind but the pain and the migraine were minimal and easy to ignore.

He dubbed this new skill that came with focusing inward Pottermency _. 'Cause only Harry Potter could try to learn Occlumency and learn how to use Legilimency on himself,_ Harry thought to himself and snickered. _Always see the bright side._

It was the fifth day he was practising his new talent - Pottermency - and he was getting better at it. Since the day three, he could filter which memories to relive based on who the memories involved or the emotions relating to them. It was a great help in remembering and honouring Sirius, and sadly, getting over his death.

 _Okay, Potter, focus._

He focused on the one image that always made him feel safe, calm and excited at the same time; the first time he saw Hogwarts on a rocky boat on a still lake. It was the most awe-inspiring thing he had seen, the castle; and the sense of belonging he experienced for the first time in his short life was memorable.

At once his heartbeat and breathing evened out to a level that if anyone saw him they'd think he was asleep. Without even knowing when it happened, he found himself lost in memories.

This pseudo-talent of his had its advantages. It allowed Harry to compartmentalise and see things through a new, older and more experienced perspective. Okay, maybe most wouldn't consider almost sixteen that much different from fifteen or fourteen, but it allowed Harry to find patterns.

These patterns showed him a picture of himself he was both proud and ashamed of. He was proud of the way he held his head high even in most dire circumstances; how he fought through, no matter the odds and pain. He was proud of his friends and he was proud of the loyalty and respect he inspired in his peers.

It also showed him how much of his life he wasted on non-consequential things; how much he wasted his time slacking off even though he had been through multiple near-death experiences. It showed him how ill-prepared he was to face what was coming.

Worst of all was, he realised how ungrateful he acted towards Hermione Granger; his most loyal and supportive friend. The girl with the scariest brain and the sexiest right hook. The whole debacle with the Firebolt in his third year and the constant the fights from last year had been atrocious. The way he had ignored her and her counsel sometimes, almost always when it was about studying, had been disgraceful.

 _That has to change,_ Harry vowed. Hermione was, and always would be, his most important resource and most valued friend, if not more than that.

Today's focus was Albus Dumbledore. After a long inner debate, Harry had decided to re-examine his relationship with his… mentor and find the crucial things he had missed. He needed to know the man better if he was to learn from him, both what to do and what not to do.

The memories started with the sorting ceremony; he saw the way his sorting and consecutive actions had held the old man's attention. The next memory was the night Dumbledore busted him in the room with the Mirror of Erised. He realised 'busted' was the wrong word in that situation. Dumbledore knew all along he was there almost every night for a while and allowed it. It was his obsessive behaviour and his sleepless state that pushed Dumbledore to reveal himself.

Harry continued to review every interaction he had with the revered man and analyse the causes and effects of those interactions. It painted a complex picture; a puzzle he didn't have all the pieces for and had little hope to figure out without further contemplation and help.

Harry jumped out of his skin when the doorbell rang and checked the time before running downstairs, guessing correctly it was his headmaster. He made it to the bottom of the stairs just as his uncle opened the door to reveal Albus Dumbledore in a black travelling cloak. _That cannot be Dumbledore. For one, he isn't wearing outlandish colours._

"Good evening. You must be Mr. Dursley. I imagine Harry told you I would come for him?"

 _I knew I forgot something!_ Harry smiled sheepishly and called out to the aged man, "Ehm, Professor, I might've- well, I forgot to tell them."

"Nevertheless, let us assume you didn't forget," Dumbledore said with a kind smile and turned to Vernon whose face was purpling in outrage. "And let us assume you invited me in like the civilised people you are."

What followed was the most awkward and fun forty-five minutes of his life in Privet Drive. Dumbledore explained to him about Sirius' will and had him check the results by ordering a grumbling Kreacher around. He explained to the Dursley family the civil war in which Wizarding Society found itself and reprimanded them for their treatment of Harry.

He did all of that while simultaneously insulting the family in a most polite voice, causing Harry to look up at him in awe.

 _It must be fun to insult people while maintaining a pleasant smile._

| O |

When they left the obnoxiously ordinary lives of the Dursley family, the Headmaster grabbed hold of Harry's arm and whisked him away.

 _I must beg Hermione to look for or discover a better, more comfortable way of magical travel,_ Harry decided in between gulps of breath. "That was fun. Let's not do it again."

"It gets better with practice," Headmaster said with a small grin, what passed for mocking for Albus Dumbledore.

Harry nodded even though he had no desire to 'practice'. "Sir, I don't think we are in Ottery St. Catchpole. Are you sure you know how to apparate?"

"Astute observation skills, Harry, and I assure you I know how to apparate. No, we are in a small village with the name of Budleigh Babberton. We are here to persuade an old friend and colleague of mine to come out of retirement."

"And why am _I_ here, sir?"

Dumbledore gave the boy a small smile. "Oh, I think we'll find a use for you." He walked at a brisk pace, leaving Harry to follow him.

Harry took a deep breath to squash his irritation at the old man but when he spoke, his voice still carried some of it. "So, you will throw me into the deep end without telling me what my purpose is. Again."

The Headmaster's pace faltered at that. He said nothing for a while, deep in thought, and Harry didn't interrupt. "You make a good point, dear Harry. In my old age, I find these little games a little too entertaining." He increased his pace, but he didn't even sound breathy. "Horace Slughorn is a renowned potion master and the old head of the house of Slytherin. Like every old man, he has his vices. He likes luxurious things and to surround himself with important people and students of great potential. He used to have dinners and parties, to which he would invite talented students and those with the 'right' sort of connections. He would cultivate relationships between important people and students who had the right making to go far in the world. They made him appear and feel important and influential."

Harry was starting to suspect he was here as the _Chosen One_ as the Prophet deemed it sensible to call him.

"Which is why you are here. Horace has information crucial to the war effort which is why we need to lure him to Hogwarts. I know you hate your fame, dear boy, but in this case, your fame, we will have to use."

All throughout his monologue, the Headmaster kept walking and Harry had the suspicion it was so he wouldn't have time to object to the blatant manipulation and distasteful use of his fame. He wouldn't. "If it's important, I'll do it, sir, but I'd appreciate it if you are upfront with me about these things in the future." He took yet another deep breath. This was important. He needed to show the Headmaster he could be sensible and responsible. "I understand that you think I am too young to have an active part in this war and know certain things. You are most likely right, but if I have to be the one to end this war, I need all the information I can get. Last year showed I can't afford to stay ignorant."

Headmaster stopped walking altogether and turned to Harry, looking at him with piercing blue eyes and a grave look on his face. "We shall discuss this after this incursion, Harry. Draw your wand. I want you to keep your wits and be alert."

Harry did as ordered, crouching lightly. "Why, what's wrong, sir?"

"Most likely nothing, but if it seems necessary, I give you permission to use your wand."

Dumbledore palmed his own wand before turning and walking towards a house Harry now realised was in disarray. The door was hanging off its hinges and the inside of the house was in a similar state. Harry followed his mentor as quietly as he could, his heart beating against his ribcage.

The young boy wasn't sure what he was feeling. Excitement because he might get to help with the war? Fear because he might get hurt? Pride because he might get to fight next to a legend?

All those jumbled out reactions turned out to be for nothing.

After they searched the ransacked house thoroughly, the Headmaster revealed the old professor they were looking for by probing an armchair. To Harry's surprise and awe, the armchair turned into the man they were there for.

 _I didn't know it was possible for a wizard to transfigure himself as an inanimate object. Or was it an illusion?_

One way or another, it was one genius move, and the boy was sure it would've fooled anyone but Dumbledore.

 _Must remember to use the Dark Mark if I ever imitate this technique._

After turning the house back to its original, pristine condition, Dumbledore gave the potion master a self-satisfied smile. "Horace, my old friend, may I introduce my young charge, Harry Potter," Dumbledore waved his hands in a _Tada!_ fashion.

Slughorn turned to Harry with hunger in his eyes but didn't take the bait right away. "I know what you are doing, Albus, and it will not work," he declared, foregoing pleasantries, his tone not as sure as his words.

"Told you, Professor. I'm nobody," Harry interjected in a dejected tone before either man could continue. "It's not like I'm the first person to kill a basilisk or the first person to conjure a corporeal Patronus at the young age of thirteen."

Dumbledore looked at Harry in surprise before smiling pleasantly, his eyes twinkling away. "Now, my boy, I won't have you belittle your own accomplishments. Not many can say they won the Triwizard tournament at fourteen and taught his peers and older students how to defend themselves at fifteen."

Harry was all too aware of the dumbfounded expression on their host's face but ignored it. "It didn't do any good when we fought against the Death Eaters though. We, the Ministry Six that is, only managed to fight them to a draw. And besides, I don't feel comfortable misleading the nice professor here. I'll probably get Exceeded Expectations at most in my potions OWL, which means I can't even attend his classes. You should have brought Hermione Granger with you. She's the one who will get twelve OWLs."

"Now, now. I know Miss Granger is truly an exceptional student but let's not forget, you scored the highest score in Defence Against the Dark Arts in history. And thanks to your efforts, Hogwarts has the best scores in Defence in the world this year."

 _I broke the record in Defence?! Why, you infuriating old man, didn't you tell me this before?_

"Okay! Stop!" shouted Slughorn, his face reddening like a Weasley. "My answer won't change. No, sir, it will not!"

Dumbledore regarded his 'friend' for a moment before smiling kindly at him and bowing courteously. "At least offer your guests a drink for old times sake. We travelled all this way in the summer heat."

The portly man hesitated for a moment before relenting. "Fine. One drink. Then you will leave because my answer won't change." Slughorn waved them to sit while he prepared their drinks. Harry sat on a shockingly comfortable armchair, smiling naively like he wasn't aware of the tension in the room.

After he basically threw them their drinks, Slughorn sat on a different armchair, his back straight as glared them to leave him alone.

Dumbledore took a sip of what Harry guessed to be whiskey before asking, "How have you been, my old friend?"

"Not so well. Weak lungs. Rheumatism too. Can't move like I used to. I'm getting old."

"And yet, you must've moved fast to prepare such a welcome," commented Dumbledore. "You couldn't have more than three minutes of warning."

"Two. Didn't hear the Intruder Charm go off. I was taking a bath." The supposed potion master shook his head. "It matters not. I am an old man, Albus. A tired man who earned his retirement and a few creature comforts."

"You are not as old as I am yet, Horace."

Slughorn nodded like Dumbledore just made his point. "Then you should consider retirement as well. Reactions not what they were," he commented, pointing to the Headmaster's darkened hand.

"Indeed." Dumbledore shook back his sleeve to reveal his whole arm looking dead. It sent a shiver down Harry's spine.

 _What the fuck?!_

The bearded man opened his arms wide in a _what can you do_ motion, causing the light to glint off a ring with snake motifs in his right hand. The ring sent another shiver down Harry's spine, making him believe it was no ordinary accessory.

 _And, if I'm reading him correctly, it did the same thing for dear Horace._

"So, were all those precautions for me, Horace, or are you expecting trouble with Death Eaters?"

"What would Death Eaters want with an old, retired man like me?" Slughorn all but shouted. He gave up the pretence when Dumbledore gave him a pointed look. "Fine, I've been on the move for a year. Never stayed in one place more than a week. Always chose a muggle house. Owners of this fine dwelling are on a vacation in the Canary Islands."

Dumbledore smiled victoriously. "Sounds like a tiring existence, not exactly the quiet retirement you wanted," Dumbledore pointed out. "Now, if you were to return to Hogwarts-"

"If you are going to tell me about how my life would be peaceful at Hogwarts, don't bother, Albus! I've heard the rumours about Dolores Umbridge, I have!"

"Dolores ran afoul of a centaur herd," Dumbledore cut in. "I think you are wise enough not to insult centaurs while trespassing on their land, Horace."

"Is that what happened?"

Harry's snort was far too loud to go unnoticed. "Sorry. It's just- For a girl with the utmost respect of authority, Hermione is a rebel. It was she who convinced Umbridge to go there, and I still can't believe she sat Snape's robes on fire," explained Harry with a chuckle.

Dumbledore's eyes widened in surprise. "Severus never mentioned."

"Oh, yeah. She thought it was Snape who was cursing my broom back in my first Quidditch match so, she did what any reasonable student would do; set a teacher on fire." Harry was outright laughing now.

"See what I mean, Albus? Students attacking teachers," said Slughorn, though he couldn't hide the small smile even if he tried.

Harry shook his head. "I can't help but think Snape deserved it preemptively. I imagine if it weren't for him, I would be much better in potions."

"It's _Professor_ Snape, Harry."

"Sorry." Harry shrugged, his tone conveying how _not_ sorry he was. "I just wish we had a better instructor."

Dumbledore looked at Harry for a second before standing up suddenly.

"Are you leaving?" asked Slughorn hopefully.

"No," Dumbledore answered. "I was wondering if I might use your bathroom?"

Slughorn's disappointment was all too clear on his face. "Second door on the left down the hall."

Harry and Slughorn sat on their respective armchairs in uncomfortable silence for a long minute before Slughorn broke it. "You look very much like your father."

Harry chuckled at the conversation starter that was now a routine. "Would you believe me if I said I hear that a lot?"

"Then I shall refrain from mentioning your mother's eyes," the balding potions master answered with a chuckle of his own. "She was one of my favourite students, Lily Evans. One of the brightest students I ever taught. Vivacious. Kind. Charming. She had quite a way with words. I always thought she should've been in Slytherin."

Seeing Harry's surprise, he explained, "She always knew what to say to win an argument. It was a nightmare; trying to change her mind about something. You would always end up changing your own mind. She had this way of getting into your head and making you doubt yourself that I found uncanny."

Harry, in his short time in the magical part of Great Britain, had heard some stories about his parents. He listened to stories about how brave they were and how much they loved him. He heard stories about his father's pranking days and their teenage romance. But, he realised at that moment, when Slughorn talked about one of his favourite students from two decades ago, that this was the closest he ever felt to his mother. This was the first moment he could imagine his mother as a real person, not just a bedtime story character.

He could imagine his mother ranting at a fellow student about the invalidity of blood purity and how keeping the gene pool small can lead to disastrous results.

He could imagine his mother complaining about the immature pranks of his fellow Gryffindors and how those said pranks would lead to resentment. How that resentment could lead to the bullied students finding solace in a dark lord with false promises and a charming speech.

That lead to a disturbing realisation. His mother sounded like Hermione. She sounded like Hermione a lot; which wouldn't be a problem, seeing as Hermione was one of the few people he respected without a doubt, whom he would support with no reservations. It wouldn't be a problem if he wasn't starting to look at his best friend in a new light since he started Pottermancy.

 _Okay, Potter, get it together._

"She sounds like a wonderful person," choked up the young orphan.

"She was. A prodigy at potions, and charms too, that it was hard to believe she was a Muggle-born."

 _Oh, shit. I was just starting to like him,_ Harry groaned silently and leaned forward with his elbows on his legs and his cheek on his palm. "One of my best friends, Hermione Granger from before, is a Muggle-born. She is the best in our year. Hell, she is the smartest student I've met," Harry said with a faux-pleasant smile.

Slughorn must have realised how he sounded because he amended immediately. "No, no! You mustn't think I'm prejudiced. Like I said, your mother was one of my favourite students. I wasn't surprised because I think Muggle-born are inferior. No, I was surprised because she was one of my best students from the moment she walked into my classroom. Which is surprising considering most of the 'well to do' pureblood students had private instructors."

 _That actually made sense._ "Sorry. I wasn't trying to offend you, sir," Harry smiled shyly. "It's a touchy subject."

"Indeed, it is." Slughorn pointed to a dresser that was right next to Harry with signed moving pictures on top of it. More accurately, he pointed towards the one with his mother and a beautiful, wide small on her face. "You'll also notice Barnabas Cuffe, the editor of the _Daily Planet._ Then there is Ambrosius Flume, of Honeydukes. A lot of famous names."

Harry smirked, out right smirked, at the opportunity. "Yes, Barnabas Cuffe. I so wish I could meet him. I'd like to get his opinion on how an 'attention seeking liar' could become the _Chosen One_ within a year _,_ considering his 'newspaper' came up with both depictions of me."

Slughorn looked flustered. "Well, you'd have to ask him."

"Yeah." Harry swallowed his values, at least for the moment, and went for the kill. "The funny thing is, they got it right."

"They got what right?" asked the prospective potions master, confused.

"I am the _Chosen One."_ Harry's smile turned predatory. _"_ I am the one who is going to defeat Lord Voldemort. It may not be today. It may not be tomorrow, but give me a couple years and I will end him and his pathetic _Death Eaters."_

Slughorn looked distinctly uncomfortable, yet intrigued. "Yes, well-"

"I mean the guy came after me five times so far and I sent him with his tail between his legs four of those five times. And the one I didn't, I was mighty tired; and was bitten by an acromantula and exposed to Cruciatus. Oh, and let's not forget, I was surrounded by thirty of his followers."

Slughorn said nothing in return and they allowed a thoughtful silence take hold between them for a few minutes before Harry tried to turn up the heat. "What I don't understand is, why are you against taking the post? Hogwarts, with Dumbledore and I there, is the safest place to be at the moment. Everyone says Dumbledore is the only person Tom fears, and while I can't claim I invoke fear in him, it's safe to assume he is wary of me."

"Well, yes, it is true You-Know-Who has never sought a fight with Dumbledore," he agreed grudgingly. "And I suppose he would be wary of you after he failed to kill you as a baby," he trailed off.

Dumbledore chose that moment to return to the room, causing the already tense future potions professor to jump. "There you are, Albus. I was beginning to fear you had an accident in the restroom," he joked weakly.

The elder of two old men smiled but there was no humour in his straight, powerful posture. He looked cross between an elderly statesman and a general. "No, I was reading the Muggle magazines and forgot myself. Well, Harry, I believe we have trespassed upon Horace's hospitality long enough."

Harry got up as Horace asked, "You are leaving?"

"Yes, indeed. We made our offer. You are wise enough to make the right choice," answered Dumbledore, leaving no doubt what the 'right choice' was in his opinion.

Slughorn wasn't as confident about his choices as Dumbledore thought he ought to be, though. He was fidgety and agitated, playing with the buttons on his thin cloak.

Dumbledore raised his healthy hand in goodbye and said, "I hope to see you at Hogwarts, Horace, I truly do. I think it would be the safest option for you. Know that even if you decide not to take me up on my offer, Hogwarts' doors are always open to you should you wish to visit."

"Yes, well..."

Dumbledore threw one last look at the nervous potions master and made his way out of the house. "Take care of yourself, old friend."

"Bye," Harry added with a cheerful wave.

| O |

As soon as Harry straightened up after another gut-twisting apparition, Dumbledore was speaking. "Well done, Harry."

Harry could agree but it left a bitter taste in his mouth. "I feel dirty." Harry looked up at the stars, taking deep breaths to soothe his chaotic stomach after a god awful transportation.

"I know you don't enjoy using your fame but-"

Harry shook his head and looked right at the ice-blue eyes of the Headmaster. "It's not that, sir. I have no problems using my fame for a good cause. It's the manipulation of the truth which makes me feel awful. The way I see it, if you focus as hard as I did on not lying, you are already lying."

Dumbledore let out a shaky breath, unable to hide the how much that statement affected him for a moment.

Harry didn't let him talk though. He needed to talk, needed the release. "I feel like I spat on Sirius' death; like I dirtied my mother's sacrifice. I- The way I talked, you would think I had no fear of Voldemort. I didn't tell him how disturbing it was to burn someone with my bare hands; or how painful it was to have basilisk venom coursing through my veins; or how dirty it made me feel to have _him_ possess me."

Harry took a deep breath and turned his eyes skyward, trying to calm his racing heart and spiralling thoughts. He stood there without moving for a few minutes before he felt a hand on his shoulder. He cast his eyes at his mentor. The frown on the elder man's face and the sad look in his eyes were highlighting his wrinkles, making him seem older than ever.

"I wish you could have the life you want, Harry, but the sad truth is we are in a civil war. Believe me, I so wish I could shield you from this burden."

"I know, sir, and I appreciate it but I have to accept it and move on. I always dreamed of being normal but... Well, fate has other plans so there is no use in dwelling on it. I can't bury my head in the sand and hope for the best."

With a kind smile on his face, Dumbledore gave Harry a gentle push towards the Burrow. "That is a very mature way of looking at life, my dear boy. I must say, I am proud of the way you are handling this burden and Sirius' passing."

Harry shrugged in response. "The prophecy wasn't much of a surprise, to be honest. It was a little overwhelming at first, to have the confirmation of what I will have to do but, looking back, I can see I already knew, at least subconsciously. And Sirius' death... Well, there is nothing I can do now but to learn from it and never make the same mistakes again."

"That is a mature way of looking at a tragedy, Harry. And, you are right; all of us have to take responsibility for our failures," Dumbledore agreed. "I shall endeavour to do the same. Which brings me to something I wanted to talk to you about. This year, I wish to give you private lessons."

Harry knew, if everyone could see him at that moment, they would worry he went mad with the face-splitting smile on his face. "Oh, thank god! I was worried about asking you for the same thing. I need help. So much help. Truthfully, watching you and Voldemort duel was an eye-opener. I can see now how little he thought of me. He was playing with me so far."

Dumbledore's step faltered at that, making Harry wonder. "Yes, well, we'll see what we can do about that." He sped up, giving Harry the impression he was uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going. "Let's not deprive Molly of a chance to complain about how thin you are any longer."

And that was that. _A nice meal to end a nice day._


	2. Mediation, Meditation, and Melancholy

July 13, 1996

Harry jumped out of bed, and sleep, with the wand in his hand ready to curse at the first sign of trouble, only to see wide-eyed Ron and Hermione. "What the fuck was that?!"

Ron, choosing to act nonchalant, ignored the wand pointed at his forehead and instead of answering, said, "We didn't know you were here already."

Harry glared at the impetuous redhead. "I asked why the fuck you thought it was a good idea to wake me up by hitting me? I don't know if you noticed but we are at war. I am on edge as it is, I don't need your accidental death in my conscience as well." He took a deep breath and threw himself down on the bed. "I got here late last night. Or is it this morning? I could never remember the right way to say that. Anyway, you were sleeping."

Hermione sat across from him, on the other bed. "How are you, Harry?"

Harry smiled at his friend, surprised she's even here. "I'm good." Seeing her glare, probably because she didn't believe him, he added, "Okay, good is a strong word. I'm good, considering what happened."

Hermione's eyes softened at that.

"What are you doing here?"

Ron answered, instead of Hermione. "Mom told us you were here."

"No, I meant why is Hermione here, at the Burrow?"

This time, it was Hermione who ignored the question, "Why? Don't you want to see me?"

Harry glared at the obtuse girl. "Stop acting like... well, Ron. Of course, I want to see you. Always. Now, answer the question. Why are you here and not with your parents, who you haven't seen in months? And who hadn't seen much of last summer either."

The chestnut-haired girl huffed but answered this time, "Because I wanted to see you, make sure you are alright. I was worried." The last part was said in a whisper like she was afraid to confess.

 _Why does that make me all giddy? If I didn't have impulse control, I swear I could squeal like Parvati or Lavender._

Harry smiled at the thoughtfulness, then grinned and rolled up his sleeves. "See, no cuts or suicide attempts. I'm doing okay. I'm still not over Sirius' death but I won't go into depression or anything."

Ron sat on the foot of Harry's bed heavily and grinned. "It's good to see you doing alright, mate. We were worried you would be... like last year, you know."

"Nah. I mean I loved Sirius, I did but..." Harry trailed off, not knowing how to express himself. "I don't know. The way I see it, I can focus my anger for losing him at myself or I can learn from the mistakes that led to his death and focus the anger at improving myself and getting revenge."

"That's..." Ron began but couldn't find the words to finish.

"Surprisingly mature of you," Hermione finished for him.

Harry grinned. "I know. The book you sent helped. A lot."

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise and cheeks flushed with pride. "You read it?"

"Of course, I did," answered Harry like it was obvious. "It was sent by Professor Granger, herself. How can I not read it?"

The aforementioned Professor threw a pillow at his head in response but it was Ron who spoke next. "So, what's been going on?"

"Nothing much. I've been stuck at my aunt's, haven't I?"

The redhead rolled his eyes. "Come off it! You've been off with Dumbledore."

"Oh, right. It was nothing, mate. We went after Voldemort and killed him, is all."

Ron's eyes widened while Hermione snickered behind her hand.

Harry laughed at his friend. "Don't tell me you believed that?" Not waiting for an answer, he continued. "It was nothing. He wanted my help in convincing this old potions teacher to come out of retirement. Horace Slughorn. The guy is a people collector and something of a talent scout. Dumbledore said Slughorn loves to surround himself with influential people so I was his ace."

Ron seemed to stuck between jealousy for Harry being chosen and confusion at potions teacher part so Harry explained, hoping to cut off a trip from Ron. "Snape will teach defence this year."

"What?! And I was so happy I wouldn't have Snape this year."

"Look at it on the bright side," Harry advised. "How many defence teachers we had for more than a year? And how many of them left Hogwarts in the same shape they entered?"

Just like that, Ron's face brightened and a hopeful smile blossomed. "Can we please, please, kill him?"

"Ronald!" Hermione shrieked. "That's an awful thing to say. Besides, we can't attack a teacher."

Harry snickered at the bickering friends. "Oh, come on, Hermione. It's not like we'll have to lift a finger. In the end, they attack us, remember? Quirrell attacked me. Lockhart tried to obliviate Ron and me. Remus tried to eat the three of us. Crouch Jr. tried to kill me. Umbridge wanted to torture me. It's a law."

"No, it's not," Hermione disagreed, though she was having a hard time hiding her smile.

Harry shook his head in denial. "It is. It says so in..."

"Hogwarts: A History," he and Ron finished together and collapsed in laughter. Hermione tried but failed to look serious, joining them a split second later.

"What's going on?" asked Ginny from the doorway, looking at them curiously.

"Your brother and Harry are acting like prats, so nothing new," Hermione explained when her laughter subsided.

Ginny shrugged, accepting Hermione's version of events without a thought. "Hi, Harry."

"Hey, Ginny. How are you?"

The youngest redhead slouched a little. "Oh, just wonderful."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Why am I having a hard time believing that? You look like someone kicked your puppy."

"It's that... that veela cow!" Seeing Harry's look of confusion, she added, "Fleur."

"She and Bill doing alright then?"

Before Ginny can answer, the door opened once again, this time revealing a gorgeous Fleur, in a revealing pajamas, carrying a tray laden with food courtesy of Mrs. Weasley. "'Arry! It has been too long!"

Harry tried. He really did but he fell to his teenage hormones, giving an admiring once-over to the French veela. "Good to see you, Fleur."

Fleur stepped over the threshold, revealing Mrs. Weasley with a pinched expression. She put the tray on Harry's knee, giving both of his cheeks sloppy kisses, not realizing she was giving Harry a good show through her low-neck. "Now," Harry said in a low tone, "That's what I call customer satisfaction."

The blonde landed a soft slap on Harry's shoulder, leaving behind a burning sensation. "Oh, 'arry. I 'ave missed you. You remember my seester, Gabrielle? She 'as been talking nonstop about you."

Harry didn't know whether to take it in a good way or fear another elbow-in-food situation. "She's here too?"

"No. No, silly boy," said Fleur with a melodic laugh that vibrated around the room. "I mean next summer when we - but do you not know?"

"We haven't gotten around to telling him yet," Mrs. Weasley butted in, not liking the situation according to the sour look on her face.

"Bill and I are going to get married!" Fleur announced, smiling mile-wide.

"That's awful!" he exclaimed. Fleur looked shocked for a moment until Harry winked. "I was hoping for a devastating break-up so I could - ahem - console you," he said, his eyebrows dancing in a faux-seductive manner.

Fleur's melodic laughter ringed once again in the room. "Oh, 'arry, you are too much."

 _Why does every female in the room look like they just sucked the sourest lemons?_ "Joking aside, congratulations. Bill is a cool guy. Though I am a bit unsure about potential children. Weasley complexion would clash awfully with your silver hair."

"Zank you, 'arry," the blonde said, refraining from commenting on the child issue. "Enjoy your breakfast."

"Thanks."

The moment the door closed, Hermione was on him, mimicking him. "I was hoping to console you, Fleur. Congratulations, Fleur."

"What's with you and Fleur? Why all three of you dislike her so?" Harry asked after taking a sip of tea.

"We don't dislike her," Mrs. Weasley said and shook her head. "But Bill could've done so much better."

Harry looked at her dubiously. "Doubt it. Fleur is not just gorgeous but, need I remind you, she was a Triwizard champion? Best Beauxbatons had to offer?"

"But she's so- so Pleghm!" Ginny groused. "She treats me like I'm three."

"And she and Bill have nothing in common. Whereas, Nymphadora is such a sweet, down-to-earth girl," the mother redhead commented.

"She's smart too, she's an auror," Hermione added.

"Allow me to repeat myself: Fleur was a Triwizard champion, best of Beauxbatons. Besides, don't you think Bill should be the one to decide who he marries?"

"Since when you are such a fan of Fleur?" Hermione asked bitterly.

"I bet you love the way she says 'arry, don't you?" Ginny glared.

"I wouldn't call myself a fan but I like her. She's smart and talented. I wouldn't marry her because she seems high-maintenance but I can see why Bill would. They have a lot in common. And yes, I do enjoy the way she says my name. But then again, I am one of the many, many teenage boys that find French accent exotic and sexy," Harry said with a grin and took a bite out of bacon.

Ginny huffed and said, "I much rather have Tonks in the family. At least she's a laugh."

Ron, having not spoken in a while, decided to make an arse of himself. "Not lately. Every time I've seen her, she looks like Myrtle."

"Ouch."

"That's not fair!" Hermione snapped. "She still hasn't gotten over what happened. Sirius was her cousin."

"Tonks and Sirius barely knew each other!" Ron argued. Sirius was in Azkaban half her life."

"Really, Ron? That's the way you want to go?" Harry asked incredulously. "Because Sirius was in Azkaban almost my whole life and I still miss him."

Ron had the decency to look apologetic. "That wasn't..."

"Besides, that's not what we were discussing. We were talking about Bill and Fleur," Harry changed the subject. He cocked his head and looked thoughtful for a moment. "I wonder what Bill would say about Dean."

"Hey! Dean is a good boy," Ginny snapped.

Harry shrugged and swallowed the bite in his mouth. "I'm not saying he isn't. But the moment you complain about Bill's relationship with Fleur, you open the way for him to butt in on all of your relationships. Do you honestly think any guy you date who isn't a mixture of Hercules and St. Valentine can be good enough for you in Bill's eyes?"

Ginny looked at him curiously while Ron asked what was in all three Weasleys' minds, "Who is bloody Hercules? Or what?"

Hermione rolled her eyes before answering, "A Roman hero-turned-god. People consider him the epitome of manhood."

"Hm. A romantic hero?" Ginny considered out loud. "I wish that was a thing."

"Hey!" Harry complained. "I can be romantic. When I have a girlfriend, I'll buy her roses and shit."

Ron snorted. "I know little about girls but I'm sure they don't consider 'shit' romantic."

Harry sniffed and raised his nose. "Mine smells like roses."

His red-headed best friend looked at him incredulously. "We've been living in the same dorm room for five years. I know first hand it doesn't."

"Enough, children," Mrs. Weasley complained. "I think we can all agree talking about your excrement is not romantic at all."

"Fair enough," Harry agreed with a nod. "But I still don't think you should give Fleur such a hard time. Think about this from her perspective. She's adapting to a foreign country and her fiancee's family constantly gives her a hard time. I realise she can come off as... bitchy but you won't know her until you give her the chance." He shrugged and added, Besides, it's not like any of us can say we are perfect. I can name multiple reasons each of you can be considered a bad partner. Love isn't about finding perfection. It's about finding someone whose imperfections are perfect for you."

The room fell into a surprised silence in response, Ron looking confused while the rest looked at him like he confessed his love for Snape.

"Where did _that_ come from?" Ginny asked, giving him an appreciative up and down.

"Must have read it somewhere," Harry answered, trying, and failing, to give a nonchalant shrug as his cheeks flushed bright red.

"Why would I be a bad partner?" Ron asked, focusing on the bad as was his _modus operandi_.

The green-eyed wizard rolled his eyes. "I can name a few if you want me to but that wasn't the point. The point is no one is perfect."

"I'm curious."

Harry let out a long breath and gave in. "Fine. You are easy to anger and hurtful when angry. Eating with you requires a strong stomach. You are a jealous and envious person and have the inferiority complex the size of Britain. You are inconsiderate and insensitive."

He turned to Ginny. "You are oppressive, you fill any room you are in with your personality. You don't attract attention, you demand it. When anyone does something you find irritating or offensive, you react without thinking and react with violence or the promise of it."

Next to go was Mrs. Weasley. "You are too mothering and controlling like you know what's best for anyone and everyone. While you are generous and helpful, you can also be demanding and demeaning."

He looked at his bushy-haired friend with wide and, dare he say, fearful eyes. "You are a perfectionist and sometimes fail to realise there is no such a thing as perfect. There is an impulsive side of you that comes out when you are passionate about a subject; like with the house-elves. You are also stubborn and somewhat know-it-all. While I consider it a positive, some would consider your lack of concern for your appearance a turnoff."

The hurt and shocked silence that followed his rant made Harry cringe. "I'm not saying these things to hurt you. I love all four of you. But I think you are judging Fleur without even trying to get to know her and I want you to understand what it must feel like. These are the things someone who doesn't know you well would see in you if they were hell-bent on disliking you like you do with Bill's _fiancee_."

The silence didn't break for two minutes, making Harry feel worse and worse with every passing second. It was Hermione who broke it, "What about you? Do you think you are perfect? If not, what are your... flaws?"

Harry tilted his head in thought. "I never considered it. Well, I have low self-esteem and I am emotionally stunted, which translates into trouble communicating. I can be moody and easy to anger which can put a strain on anybody. No matter what my opinions of it are, I am a high-profile person whose every action is judged by the 'people' which means anyone I date would be scrutinised. I have a price on my head and an expiration date so anyone who dates me needs to ready herself for a loss. I am a self-sacrificing person who gets into a shitload of trouble. I have a flawed moral core and a tendency to avoid arguments with people I care about so I stay passive when I shouldn't sometimes." He tried but couldn't find anything else. "I probably have more flaws than that but it's hard to consider myself from an objective point of view," he finished with a shrug.

"That's..." Ron trailed off.

"A lot of reasons not to date you," Ginny added.

"And far too harsh," Hermione finished.

"Hey, now. Those are just the negatives. We all have positive traits too. That's the thing; you focus on the bad or unattractive qualities of Fleur so much, you miss out on what she has to offer."

An introspective group dispersed after that, Harry and his two best friends staying in the room while Mrs. Weasley dragged Ginny to the kitchen to help with cooking.

After five minutes of silence, Hermione broke it once again, "What did you mean you have an expiration date?"

Harry smiled at his friend and explained the prophecy and his discussion with Dumbledore the night Sirius died. Two teenagers' reactions were as different as the night and day. Ron found it encouraging as it meant, in his mind, Harry was powerful enough to defeat Voldemort. He did react as if he was jealous but curbed that pretty quickly. Hermione considered it a burden on her friend's shoulder and said so with pity in her eyes that changed to a determined look that told Harry she intended to see him survive no matter the cost.

 _Voldemort may have an army and more power in his pinky than all three of us combined but I have Hermione. There is no way he can win,_ Harry thought with a wide smile. _Or at least, we'll know almost everything about Magic there is to know as we die._

| O |

July 16, 1996

 _Life is good,_ Harry thought as he walked the orchard to find the perfect spot to meditate. He had a smile on his face, which was odd enough as it is, and he was taking deep breaths, taking in the pleasant smells permeating the air. _I don't get why anyone would give this up to move to a crowded city with exhaust pipes, constant noise and pretentious people._

It didn't take him long to find a spot with the view of a small lake and mountains. Oh, the view wasn't important for his meditation but it was always a welcome addition to anything and everything. _A good view makes everything feel... more vivid._

He took one last glance around him to get to know his environment before he closed his eyes and got into position. This mixture of dance and martial arts asked for the complete abandon of the sense of 'self' and becoming one with your environment.

 _I'm a leaf on the wind. Watch how I soar._

 _Not a single being, but a part of the whole._

This meditation technique, not only allowed him to centre himself and calm his mind but gave him a sense of belonging. Like no matter what the future holds, he had Mother Earth and Magic supporting him. He couldn't fail and he couldn't disappoint because he had their blessing and their love.

In the two weeks since he started this meditation, he had felt himself getting more powerful. No, that's not true. He hadn't 'gotten' more 'powerful'. He hadn't changed, his perception of himself and the world around him had. Not powerful, he was blessed and allowed.

And it was just the beginning, he knew it. You can't learn the secrets of the universe and a calm and peaceful life in two weeks. He was but a novice, learning at his mother's bosom.

Harry danced with nature and fought his self, letting go of the Harry and becoming _one_.

One heard the birds chipper and the rats bustle. He smelt the earthiness of grass and the scent of roses. One felt the warmth of the sun and the chill of the wind. He tasted the salt of the sea and the sweetness of apples.

One didn't need to see to know his two best friends approach his position with curiosity and watch him in questioning silence.

He understood his friends' wonder, appreciated their patience and continued his practice for another half hour with no noise other than his steady breathing and whisper-like movements.

Harry finished with a low crouch and let out a deep breath as he opened his eyes, a satisfied smile gracing his lips. "You guys think too loud." He tilted his head as if to listen to something neither of his friends could hear and amended without turning around, "Well, Hermione thinks too loud. Ron is more like a violent silence."

That earned him affronted 'hey' from both as he threw himself to the ground and laid on his back with his arms behind his head to watch the sky. "I'm guessing you have questions?"

"Was that tai chi?"

"Something similar. There isn't a name for it. Where did you hear tai chi, Hermione?"

He heard instead of saw Hermione's huff of indignation. "I don't know if you know this about me but I read a lot. And my mother likes eastern meditation practices."

"This is a rare instance. Why do you speak so rarely about your mother?" Harry asked, unable to quench his curiosity.

Hermione walked next to him and sat down as Harry turned to her. "You never asked?" she answered unsurely.

"Please tell me," he pleaded, his hand caressing hers. He saw a red-faced Ron sit on the other side of her but ignored him.

The brown-eyed girl shrugged, looking away at the scenery with moist in her eyes. "It's hard, living in two worlds; Muggle and Magical. My parents can't understand what it's like to be a witch and the magical world won't accept them into their midst. It's my way of compartmentalising, I believe."

The green-eyed boy gave a sad smile to his friend that went unseen. "I never thought of it that way. And hey, I'm sure you'll figure out a way to reconcile your two worlds one day."

"What, no brilliant solutions?" Hermione turned back to him and asked with surprise and sarcasm laded in her voice.

"That's your department. My role is that of a supportive friend with inquisitive questions and witty remarks."

"And what's mine?" Ron butted in with a tightly controlled voice.

Hermione ignored him and Harry followed suit. "So, since when do you meditate and why?"

"There is no book on occlumency so I thought I'd try Muggle meditation techniques to see if they helped." Harry ignored the surprise and joy at Hermione's face. "I found a wonderful book with two kinds of meditations. This is one, and boy-oh-boy, it does wonders."

"Oh, really? How wonderful," Ron remarked sarcastically.

"What's the other one?"

"It's a technique with classic lotus but it has an... odd side effect," Harry tried to explain but didn't succeed.

"What side effect?"

"You are a well of questions today, aren't ya?" Harry quipped with a lazy grin. "I'm not sure how to describe it. Best I could come up with so far is, I sort of use legilimency on myself."

"?" Hermione's face screwed up in confusion.

"I enter a similar state to when Snape used legilimency on me but I can control the flow of memories and the pain and headaches are easier to handle," Harry answered the unasked question.

"That sounds..." Hermione trailed off, unsure of her thoughts on the matter.

"Like the curse, or luck depending on the situation, of Harry Potter strikes again," Harry finished for her. "This time it is luck though. Think about how useful it would be if you could re-examine all your memories."

Ron let out an explosive breath through his nose and stood up to leave.

Hermione nibbled her bottom lip. "It does sound useful when you put it like that but what if you... I don't know, get lost in memories or something?"

Harry chuckled. "I feared the same thing at first but doesn't that sound ridiculous when you think about it? How can someone get lost in their memories? It is your own brain. I mean, yes, my sense of time gets all skewed but I still get hungry, and loud noises still snap me out of a trance. It's not like my body stops working when I enter a trance."

"And do they, the meditation techniques, help?" she asked as she rocked on her bum side to side, her eyes shining with a hunger for knowledge that belonged there.

Harry nodded, "They do, in their own way. The one you saw me do just now helps me become more aware of my surroundings and my magic. The second one, the one I call Pottermancy, helps me re-examine my life. I learn through hindsight. It increases my awareness of my thought process."

Hermione giggled at his coined name before her expression turned thoughtful and shy. "Do you think you can teach me?"

The messy-haired wizard rolled his eyes at his friend's unnecessary shyness. "I'll give you the book and you can join me in my exercises but I think it's best if you learn it yourself. In my experience, which admittedly isn't much, meditation is a personalised thing."

"Okay, but you'll still help?" Hermione half-agreed and pleaded.

"I'll do my best. Be warned, I don't know if Pottermancy is a teachable skill or some quirk of my magic."

"I'm sure I'll live even if I don't learn how to read my own mind," Hermione deadpanned.

"Tell me about your parents," Harry changed the subject as he lost the war to his inner-Hermione.

Hermione's surprise didn't last long before a fond smile graced her lips, earning a similar one from Harry accompanied by a fluttering heart. "They are both dentists. Well, my father is a dentist while my mother is a dental surgeon. They met in the university through a mutual friend. My father used to date that mutual friend who was, and still is, my mother's closest friend. When my father fell in love with my mother, he broke it off with Sandy. A year later, he asked my mother out. Mom says the first year of their relationship was filled with drama, heartache and all that soap opera stuff but everything worked out."

Her eyes went unfocused and her lips curved up to a small smile. "They both love travelling, my parents. Since I've known myself, we have visited a different country for vacation every year. They also go on sort-of honeymoons every other year. To renew and celebrate their love, they say but I think they just want to have loud sex," she said before she chuckled and pretended to puke.

"They sound happy and very much in love," Harry commented, enjoying Hermione's mood.

"I think they are. Oh, they fight alright. I think it's inevitable in any relationship, but they are never hurtful or impatient with each other. They may go to bed mad but they always wake up still in love with each other."

"Tell me about these vacations of yours. Paint me a word picture," Harry asked in a small but eager tone.

Hermione frowned for a moment before smiling indulgently. She looked up to the sky in thought for a moment before she giggled. "Two years before I started Hogwarts, we went to Italy for two weeks. We started the vacation in Venice and travelled east to Milano, then north to Firenze, then Roma. Ended the vacation in Sicily. There is a popular tourist and local spot in Firenze called Piazzale Michelangelo. It's on a hilltop with an amazing view of the city and there are always these street musicians playing guitars, violins and whatnot."

She chuckled in remembrance. "I remember sitting there one night with a bottle of juice and the tastiest sandwich I have ever had and these three musicians with different instruments start playing together. I watched, horrified, as my parents stood and started dancing in the middle of everyone. There were two dozen couples there and, seeing my parents, they joined. One moment, everyone is sitting on their spot, enjoying the evening with their lovers and the next, twenty couples were dancing."

"The musicians played song after song as everyone danced, and I remember feeling afraid that my parents forgot about me. I made a little spectacle with my crying that night."

"Tsk. Hermione Granger; the girl-who-killed-romance," Harry joked after laughing his breath off.

"I was a child so, yeah, you could say that," Hermione said after slapping Harry on his shoulder.

"Your parents sound like how I imagine my parents would be, or was," the green-eyed wizard commented wistfully before frowning. "Hermione, I- Don't misunderstand me, I don't want you to go or anything but you should spend more time with your parents while we are still on holidays. Ron and I, we have you for nine months. Your parents must miss you terribly. I know I would."

The brown-eyed witch sighed and smiled. "I know. I'll write to them, but I want to celebrate your birthday."

"Damn right, you will. I'm sick and tired of you glossing over my birthdays with a gift and a letter only. I want a birthday hug," Harry demanded childishly and with what he hoped was a cute pout.

Hermione giggled and landed another gentle slap on the boy's shoulder before biting her bottom lip in thought, causing Harry to groan internally at the beautiful sight. "Okay. I'll write to my parents and go home the day after tomorrow. We'll plan your birthday tomorrow."

"Plan? We buy a birthday cake, put on smiles and Bam! We have a birthday," Harry disagreed.

Hermione gave a mischievous smile. "No, we'll make it special. And when I said we'll plan your birthday, I didn't mean to imply you would be involved in any planning or you would even know the plan."

"But it's my birthday?"

"No."

"My birthday," he pleaded.

"No."

"My birthday," he begged.

"No."

"My birthday! Mine! Mine!" he cried, punching the ground softly and childishly.

"My decision is final, Mr. Potter," Hermione said warningly and grinned.

"You are the worst," Harry said as he got up and stole a kiss on Hermione's cheek before whispering, "Romance killer," and running away; Hermione chasing him after a long, shocked moment.

 _Life is great._

| O |

July 21, 1996

Something odd was happening lately between Harry and Ron. While their relationship hadn't changed on the surface, there was a stillness and an odd tension there. Harry didn't know the reason behind the tension, nor how he could fix it.  
So, he did nothing but pretend nothing had changed.

It wasn't only because he didn't have a clue what had. This tension was very similar to the one present before and during the Quidditch World Cup and he was tired of it. He loved Ron; he did, but he hated the redhead's temper and envious tantrums.

After a long contemplation, he realised it was partly his fault for always humouring that ugly side of Ron. Whenever Ron displayed a sign of envy or anger, Harry had either caved or forgave without a thought. And while he understood where Ron's issues were stemming from, it didn't, and shouldn't, mean he'd live his life on egg-shells.

We can ill afford to act like children. War is here and we can't afford to postpone happiness out of concern for hurt feelings.

Harry left the house in contemplation of this issue and took a deep breath of fresh air, enjoying the setting sun and the pink hue it basked the garden in. He strolled aimlessly, letting his feet take him to wherever he needed to be with no concern.

He walked and thought until he heard a silent sniff, almost dismissing it as a quirk of the gentle breeze. Still, he was nothing if not inquisitive, so he chose to investigate and followed the sound.

There it is, he celebrated inwardly as he saw a glint of silver next to a tree and walked there to find Fleur sitting against a tree with dried tear tracks on her unblemished skin. What should I do? I'm not good with crying girls, last year proved that.

He sighed and tiptoed to the tree, hoping he wouldn't make things worse with his presence. Fleur jerked out of her wet contemplation as Harry sat next to her and leaned on the same tree she did without a word.

Two champions rested against the same tree for ten minutes in silence before Fleur lost the fight to her curiosity. "Why are you 'ere, 'Arry?"

The green-eyed boy shrugged. "It's a good place as any and you looked like you could use a friend."

The blonde said nothing back, looking away with unfocused eyes that shone with as yet unshed tears. Harry felt the need to disturb the uncomfortable silence but didn't know what so he went with an honest question, "Are you okay?"

"Oi, I'm fine," was the short, clipped answer he received.

"Let's try this again, are you okay? You look sad."

She sighed in defeat and irritation. "Oi. I'm frustrated zat I 'ave to live with people who don't like me. I'm upset zat my future in-laws don't like me. Gabrielle, I miss 'er."

Harry gave the blonde girl a sympathetic glance. "Is that what this is about? Because Mrs. Weasley doesn't like you?"

"I'm getting married and no one in my fiance's family likes me," Fleur said in despair.

What can I say? She's right. "Ron does," he joked and earned a wet giggle from the girl.

Fleur dried her eyes on her sleeve. "'ow can I marry into a family zat dislikes me so?" she looked at Harry hopefully, like he might have all the answers, and asked.

"I'm sure they'll change their tune once they get to know you and even if they don't, Bill loves you. Isn't that all that matters?"

"Eet is," the blonde agreed with a nod. "But eet is 'ard to live in the 'ouse of people 'oo dislike you."

"Then don't," the raven-haired boy said with a careless shrug. "I wouldn't spend a minute in my relatives' house if I didn't have to. The good thing about being an adult is you get to do whatever you want to."

"But Bill says we 'ave to stay 'ere for your protection," the girl argued weakly.

"I'm sure there are other people who could fill in for you."

"We need to save money for the wedding."

"The Grimmauld Place is empty," Harry argued. "Stop making excuses, Fleur. If you are miserable here, the solution is simple; don't be here. We are at war. We have to sink our teeth in any sliver of happiness we can find. And while sacrifices are necessary for us to win, you don't have to sacrifice your happiness altogether."

The veela didn't seem fully convinced but Harry saw a gleam of determination in her eyes.

"If you don't think it would work, then you need to change the situation here. Bill wants you to stay here? Then he should ensure your comfort." Harry considered the tension he witnessed between every female in the house and Fleur. "But I think you need to accept that they won't change their opinions of you soon. Sometimes, people just don't like each other. You don't need them to like you. Like I said, Bill loves you."

Fleur sighed and leaned forward to rest her cheek on her palm, facing Harry with pink cheeks that looked adorable on her. "'Ow are you, 'Arry? We 'aven't 'ad a chance to talk last few days."

"I don't know how to answer that question," Harry said as he drew his knees up and hugged them. "Content but anxious about the war sounds appropriate, I guess. My mood is fluid lately, going from happy to upset in a moment and vice versa."

"Zat's 'ow everyone feels, I zink," Fleur commented with an understanding smile. "'Ow about your love life? Any girlfriends Gabrielle should know about?"

Harry snorted and shook his head. "Not at the moment. I tried my luck with a girl last year but... it didn't end well."

Fleur raised her eyebrows in surprise and her eyes shone with interest. "Oh? What 'appened?"

Harry snorted again at the curious nature of every girl he met so far when it came to the subject of love. Still, he told her everything that happened the previous year, both to satisfy her curiosity and to get some things off his chest. What better way to process things than to tell someone you somewhat trust and yet someone who is somewhat new to you.

"Do you love 'Ermione?" she asked Harry when he finished his tale.

Harry rested his forehead on his knees and thought. "I love her but I'm not sure if I am _in love_ with her."

"What's ze differenze?"

The boy looked up, uncomprehending before he realised Fleur's command of the English language isn't yet there. "You love your sister but you are in love with Bill," Harry explained.

"Ah," was all Fleur said.

"I'm going full cliche right now but how do you know when you love someone?"

Fleur gave Harry a gentle smile and a pat on the cheek as if he was a small boy which Harry felt was accurate at that moment. "I zink it's when you get... _exité,"_ she pointed at her stomach and made a weird hand gesture before continuing, "when 'e smiles. Or she in your case."

"Hm. My stomach clenches sometimes like that but not always," Harry said as he gazed at the surrounding trees.

The blonde gave him a kiss on the cheek before standing. "Zank you for zis, 'Arry. I needed a friend."

Harry didn't follow her lead, choosing to stay for a while longer instead. "You are welcome to talk my ears off whenever you want to talk."

"If you decide to... _courtiser_ 'Ermione, she'd be _chanceux_ ," she said before walking away, leaving Harry to figure out what she said.

 _Would she?_ Harry wondered as he leaned back with a sigh, remembering the all the reasons he said why he would make a bad partner.

 _I must have good attributes that would make me a good date, right?_

| O |

July 30, 1996

Harry was tense and restless as he paced the living room of the Burrow and waited for Dumbledore to arrive. After two weeks of intermittent negotiations, he had finally convinced the Professor to take him to the Grimmauld Place for a night.  
Not that the old man didn't want Harry to go there, he was concerned with security, especially with the unchecked parts of the house filled with dark magic. It took a lot of effort on Harry's part not to use the 'my life is always in danger' card.

No, sir. Harry Potter acts like a mature individual now.

Harry had convinced Dumbledore to allow him one night in the childhood house of Sirius - calling it a home would be an insult - by promising to be careful. He even sweetened the deal by inviting Lupin to join him for a night. Remus hadn't even thought about it before agreeing, much to Dumbledore's dismay.

The whitened wizard had to agree the house was too useful to let it go to waste, especially the library. And the Lord's office, if they could find it.

Purebloods and their bullheaded need to horde knowledge like demented hedgehogs.

Harry was surprised to learn Dumbledore and Sirius had spent days searching every inch of the house for a secret office in the house with no luck. According to Dumbledore, it was a Pureblood custom for a 'Lord of the House' to hide important documents and information in a special office and protect it past redundancy.

It was curious how much Dumbledore wanted to find the office, and Harry was sure it was for knowledge. Dumbledore is a man with a thirst for knowledge.

The thing that scared Harry was the desperate hope Dumbledore tried to hide when he told the boy about the office. The recently reinstated Chief Warlock was many things, but he was never desperate. Not even when he had duelled Voldemort or when the Ministry had tried to arrest him

So, Harry had no intention, nor the inclination, of denying his mentor this hope he was searching for.

His pacing stopped as soon as he heard the knock on the door and he shot off to answer. "Hello, Albus. You are here for Harry, I presume," he heard Mrs. Weasley say as he opened the door to the kitchen.

"Indeed, I am, Molly." The white-haired man turned to Harry with twinkling eyes. "I see you haven't forgotten to mention I was coming this time, Harry."

Harry grinned with no sign of shame or regret. "I like Mrs. Weasley, you see. I couldn't blindside her like that."

"You are turning out to be a most devious young man," Dumbledore joked softly as both men ignored the gaping redhead in the room. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir. I've got my overnight bag and everything." The older wizard waved his arm in a sweeping motion, telling Harry to walk without words.

Ten minutes later, they carefully walked past the door of the grim old place, joined by Lupin and Tonks. Harry saw Dumbledore nod from the corner of his eyes as they walked past the irritating painting and entered the kitchen and spoke softly, "Kreacher."

"Filthy animals and blood-traitors invade the house of proud Blacks! Oh, what would my mistress say." Needless to say, when the elf materialised, he didn't appear to enjoy their presence.

"Be silent, Kreacher," Harry ordered when they heard a glass, or something similar, break followed by muffled curses coming from the second floor. The four tense magicals immediately pulled out their wands as Kreacher's expression turned a cruel shade, a small, vicious smile on his lips. "Who else is here, Kreacher?"

"The thief bad master allowed into this proud house," Kreacher snarled in hatred, both at his old, dead master and the thief, whoever he might be.

Harry didn't know why but he felt a cold anger settle on his stomach as he stormed towards where the noise came from. He climbed the stairs on his toes, not afraid, but unwilling to make a noise and scare off the thief before he could resolve his anger. He crept over to the only open door and threw it open fully, his wand aimed at the ginger-haired thief, otherwise known as Mundungus Fletcher. "Give me a reason not to paint the walls with your blood," he snarled as the lowlife jumped at the sudden noise.

The man whirled around with a healthy amount of fear in his brown eyes. "Sirius never cared about none of this stuff," the man said in broken English, eyes darting between Harry and somewhere over his shoulder, going from fearful to hopeful and back.

"I don't see what Sirius has to do with your imminent death," Harry hissed, stalking closer to the man. "How long have you been stealing from me and what have you stolen so far?"

"I got nothin', I swear," the man swore as he backed up with his hands raised in surrender.

"Why am I having a hard time believing you?" Harry lit his wand and gave what he hoped was a cruel smile, the light coming off his wand reflecting on a silver necklace in the thief's hand. Before he could say anything, his inherited and demented house-elf ran to the man and kicked him, shocking everyone in the room. The elf then wrenched the necklace away before landing a few more powerful kicks at the fallen man's stomach before popping out of the room.

For a long moment, the only noise in the room was the pain-filled moans of Fletcher, as other four occupants of the room looked around in shock. It was Harry who snapped out of it first thanks to his curiosity. "Kreacher."

"Filthy master asks for Kreacher. Kreacher doesn't want to answer."

Harry ignored the elf's muttering as he spoke, "Bring the necklace you took from the thief."

He waited patiently as the elf popped away, popping back in a couple minutes later. Harry grabbed the necklace right away and examined it, feeling something, something dark and wrong exuding from it. It had a serpentine 'S' on it, inlaid with glittering emerald stones.

It felt familiar yet strange at the same time, puzzling Harry. The boy turned his attention back to the elf but before he could question it, Dumbledore rushed to his side and wrested the necklace from Harry.

The headmaster inspected the necklace with an unholy interest and cast a strange spell at it, his eyes giving off a satisfied glint when the spell caused the thing to let out a dark, sickly green smoke. "How did this ended up here?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the silver neck-wear.

The elf didn't answer the question, glaring at the old man with hatred filled eyes.

"Answer him, Kreacher," Harry ordered.

The elf's hands went to his throat as he answered, his head shaking and face contorting as he tried not to answer. "Master Regulus gave it to Kreacher, ordered him to destroy it before he died. Kreacher tried. He failed. Failed. Bad house-elf! Bad!"

Harry tried to decipher what the elf said as the said elf tried to commit suicide by hitting his head on the walls violently. The headmaster, on the other hand, seemed to understand the cryptic words of the elf, while the werewolf, the auror and the thief all seemed confused.

"Kreacher, stop. Don't hurt yourself," the dark-haired teen ordered softly, unwilling to allow even 'it' to self-mutilate.

His words brought Dumbledore out of his disbelief and wonder, whatever the reason, and the headmaster hurried to the elf's side and bent down on his knees next to the creature. "Kreacher, you have my word, we will destroy the locket and fulfil your master's order."

The elf looked at Harry with hope and tears in his eyes and Harry nodded. "Thank you, filthy master and blood-traitors! Master Regulus shall find peace in his death," he eerily said before popping off.

"Well, that was interesting," Harry deadpanned as everyone in the room straightened. "Would you mind telling me what was that about, sir?"

"Not at the moment, Harry. I will share what I know with you in school," the white-bearded wizard promised.

Harry nodded his acceptance before turning his attention back to the creep trying to creep out of the room. "What shall I do with you?"

The thief gave a toothless smile. "Let me go?"

"I shall deal with this transgression," Dumbledore cut in, giving Harry a meaningful glance over his half-moon glasses.

Harry sighed and nodded. "I don't want to see his face anywhere near me or this place. This is the second time he tried to screw me over."

Dumbledore nodded his acceptance while the creep let out a relieved breath before he hurried out of the room, leaving the four people alone.

Dumbledore put the necklace in an inner pocket of his once-again colourful robes and the group separated in twos to look through the house, Harry with his headmaster and Lupin with Tonks.  
The powerful duo searched room after room, looking for traps, hidden doors and dangers for the next couple hours. Harry watched in interest as Dumbledore cast spell after spell to find and dismantle the dark traps and put the rooms in order just with a flick of his wand. It hurt him to see how much of the house was ransacked by the creepy thief and he woved to himself to make sure the toothless man was punished. Not until after the war, though.

When the group sat for tea in the kitchen two hours later, they had searched and catalogued every room in the house except Sirius'. The room Harry had insisted on coming there for.

He had a gut feeling Sirius had left him something there, something with at least sentimental value. But that wasn't why he wanted to be there. No, the book Hermione had sent mentioned spending time in the same place as someone you lost would help you get closure.

And he needed closure. Oh, he was handling Sirius' death well but he knew he couldn't accept it fully until he said goodbye to his godfather.

After allowing himself a short rest, he left his three companions in the kitchen in search of closure. He climbed the stairs to the third floor and dragged his feet to the master bedroom, putting a trembling hand on the wooden door. The door warmed up to his touch and sent tingles down his arm and shivers down his spine.

That was magic.

Still, he didn't care about it at the moment. He wanted to feel close to his godfather, the closest link to his parents he had and yet, he couldn't move from his spot. The hand he had on the door continued to tremble and his shoulders shook with dry heaves, his eyes moistening with tears he fought.

He closed his eyes and imagined Sirius standing where the young man was standing as the Azkaban survivor cursed the fates for putting him in prison after prison. Because that's what this house for Sirius. This was his 'Privet Drive', his personal prison and nightmare.

That thought added anger to Harry's grief and Harry held on to that anger even though he knew it wasn't healthy. It was better than the pain of knowing Sirius gave up his freedom to help Harry by allowing himself to get locked up by Dumbledore 'for his own safety'.

Oh, how he wanted to rant and rave at the ancient man for what he did to both Harry and Sirius in the name of safety. He wanted to rage against the white-haired wizard for stealing their happiness and freedom for his purposes.

But he knew, in the heart of his heart, Dumbledore never did anything out of malice. And while he could disagree and refuse to obey, he could never blame the headmaster for his and Sirius' fate. Sirius needn't to comply with the orders and Harry could easily ensure Privet Drive wasn't standing for him to go back.

So, he took a deep breath and directed his anger towards the real guilty party in everything that went wrong in his life; Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and Fudge and his stooges. Voldemort for destroying his, Sirius' and many others' lives in his quest for power. Fudge for his corruption and refusal to listen to Harry when the boy told him about Sirius' innocence and Voldemort's resurrection.

Both men would die for their sins, their followers suffering a fate worse in Azkaban.

Both men would curse the day they heard the name of Harry Potter as they took their last, pain filled breaths.

He would show both men what real power was and make them beg. He didn't know if they would beg for their lives or the sweet release of death, but they would beg until they had no hope.

 _Woah, there champ. No need to go all dark and sadistic._

Harry took a deep breath to calm himself and push down the thoughts that scared him like nothing in his life ever scared him before. Ollivander's voice rang in his ears, telling him about the core of his wand. He heard Voldemort's voice whisper into his ears, telling him to embrace the lack of good and bad and accept the authority of his own power.

He shook his head, focusing his thoughts on the good influences in his life. Dumbledore, telling him how different he was from Voldemort because of his choices. Hermione, telling him how much she admired him for not snapping under pressure last year. Sirius, telling him about the light and dark inside everyone.

That last thought broke Harry's resolve and he gave into the tears and sobs and fell on his knees, hugging his knees as his body shook in grief.

Harry didn't know how long he sat there, crying for the loss of his godfather and everything else, and he didn't care as he stood, wiping his face on his sleeves. He sniffed one last time before he squared his shoulders and pushed open the bedroom door.

The room was in disarray, clothes and books thrown about haphazardly, worn down posters hung on the walls and childish drawings on the walls. The teenager in Harry couldn't help the laughter erupting at the how childishly and rebelliously Sirius the room was in this state.

The boy continued to laugh for over five minutes and when he couldn't laugh anymore, he smiled like a lunatic. He was sure if anyone could see him like that, they'd lock him up in a psych ward and throw away the keys but he didn't care.

The room felt so much like Sirius. It's dark pass was there for anyone to see in the mouldy and darkened walls, offset by the eye-wateringly colourful belongings of Sirius. _He probably enjoyed giving his parents the finger by drawing that penis and putting up a Muggle lingerie model's poster on the wall._

Harry took a long look at the poster, wondering if Sirius would want him to have it as he memorised the curves on the well-endowed woman's body.

He shook his head to refocus and began the search for things with sentimental value, things like this room that carried Sirius' soul but smaller so he could carry them with him at all times.

He found that and more. He found the partner of the mirror Sirius gave him, a long letter addressed to him and told Harry everything he didn't have time to tell his godson in person, the keys to his motorcycle, a picture of Harry on a toy broom, and a letter from his mother to Sirius.

He spent two hours searching through everything, crying and laughing, before he succumbed to sleep on the same bed Sirius slept on his last night with a silent prayer to the dark night sky.

 _I hope in death, you find the peace you couldn't find in life._


	3. On Love and War

July 31, 1996

 _I made a huge mistake_ , Harry thought the moment he saw the smiling faces of the over dozen people in front of him in the garden of Burrow. His attempt at a smile went awry as he looked constipated more than happy as he waved at the crowd and turned around. "Abort. I repeat, abort the mission." 

Lupin and Tonks gave him tired but amused smiles before the metamorphmagus pushed him towards the long table Mrs. Weasley had prepared. "It's too late to back out now, shorty," she quipped.

"Hey! We are the same height," Harry complained as he pouted.

Tonks smirked and grew an inch with a wink. "No, we are not."

"I hope the weather is burning hot up there," Harry grumbled and gave into his fate, turning around and making his way to the tables. "Hey, everyone."

Not that Harry didn't want to celebrate his birthday with friends but after spending the day in the cursed house of Blacks', he wasn't in a happy mood. He had, with the help of Tonks and Lupin, combed every inch of the house for valuables and books. No one could blame him for his mood.

 _That house is fucked up._

He didn't regret the decision though. The library alone was worth it, not to mention the little things like the letters his parents wrote to Sirius, the letter Sirius wrote to Harry and other sentimental belongings.

He had shed more tears than the time he had spent four days without food because he turned his teacher's hair blue. How could he not after reading letters from his parents to Sirius?

The letters from his father were especially hard on Harry.

Whenever people talked about James Potter, they talked about how fearless and joyful he was. Or if it was Snape, how arrogant and foolish he was.

No one told Harry about the James Potter who would jump and draw his wand at every sound in case it's Voldemort. There was no mention of the James Potter who had spent his nights awake, guarding the two most precious things he had. James Potter he heard about hadn't cursed himself for bringing a child to such a dark life.

The letters the married man sent to his best friend, his secret keeper in every sense except the one everyone thought, showed a new and different side of James Potter. It painted a picture of a father Harry was proud of.

Because people were wrong; James Potter wasn't fearless. He was brave in the face of his fears. So much so he would face one of the most powerful wizards in history without a hesitation just to give his family a few more minutes.

They were wrong; James Potter wasn't joyful. He wore that mask just so his wife and son could breathe easier and live happier.

Lily Potter's letters were only marginally better than her husband's. There were fewer mentions of her fears and no mention of a regret for cursing a child with life. Instead, there were mentions of dead friends and burned houses and missing people. Her letters painted a lovely picture of Lily Potter, a young, caring and thoughtful woman who would never give up fighting as long as there is a star in the sky. 

Those letters, though, opened Harry's eyes to another side of this war.

The young boy had been aware war was a bad thing and witnessed firsthand what it could cost. Yet, a part of his mind always considered this a war between Harry, Dumbledore and the Order against Voldemort and Death Eaters.

But his mother's letters told stories of innocents cut down and women raped. It told how families would perish in a cursed fire as their house fell on top. The stories had been an awful realisation that the war, his war wasn't his at all. It was the fight of a whole community.

And Harry cursed the gods and fates for putting so many people through hell while they were alive and deserving of heaven. And he vowed to become the best wizard he could be so he could put an end to this madness.

Harry had been emotionally spent and in a fighting mentality when he had ascended the stairs, only to lose his mind when he heard the shrill voice of Walburga Black.

The young man couldn't remember what he said exactly as his memory was fuzzy but the next moment, he was standing in the office of the Lord. The office Dumbledore and Sirius had spent so much time searching for.

He cleaned out that room too as a _fuck you_ to the unbearable portrait in the foyer.

They had, just before coming to the Burrow, put everything they took from the house into a new vault in Gringotts, accessible only to Harry, Hermione and Dumbledore. The young man was smart enough not to trust anyone but the headmaster and Hermione with the nauseating books Black family collected over generations.

"Harry, are you okay?" Hermione's concerned voice brought Harry out of his introspection. He realised, even with no conscious thought, how beautiful she looked in her red summer dress that complimented her brown skin. _And showed a torturous amount of cleavage that made you want to see more with no hope._

He gave a jerky nod and put a forced smile on his face. "I'm going to... take a shower. I am dirtier than a Snape after a bad month," he joked, but it fell flat.

He didn't care enough to attempt another one, so he turned around and hurried into the house and upstairs to the shower. Neither he cared enough to get out of his clothes before he activated the water conjurer/heater thingy he always forgot the name of.

No, the only thing he cared at the moment was washing away the dirt he felt and the burden he had. He didn't know how long he stood there, under scalding water, with his eyes closed, but it had to be a long time. Because when he opened his eyes again, it was to answer the insistent knocking on the door as he stumbled towards it with his fogged glasses. "What?" he snapped as he wrenched open the offending wood, only to come face to beard with Dumbledore. 

"I personally prefer to swim in that lovely pond a few hundred yards away," the old man said with a kind smile. The smile didn't last long when Dumbledore realised his audience wasn't in the mood for such trivialities and the old man moved past the door frame. He looked around for a place to sit and conjured two wooden chairs when he found none.

Harry threw himself on the second chair when Dumbledore waved him to do so and sat there in silence and with sagged shoulders.

"Why are you in here, Harry, when there is a delicious-looking cake with, literally, your name on it? I don't believe young Ronald could fight his urges much longer."

Harry looked up at his role model with dead eyes. He didn't want to talk, he didn't want to see the old man, and he certainly wanted no cake. Still, he had far too much respect for the man he thought of as a grandfather to sit in silent disrespect. "I found the letters my parents wrote to Sirius while they were in hiding."

"Ah," was all Dumbledore could say before Harry spoke again.

He let out a deep breath and put his head between his hands. "Intellectually, I always knew war is a bad thing and Voldemort is dangerous man, but until today, this was my war and Voldemort was detrimental to my health. I never realised how many people he had hurt during the first war and will hurt in this one until I, a schoolboy, defeat him. It had always been kill or be killed. Not save the innocent or watch as they perish." He looked up with pleading eyes, begging for guidance. "How can I go out there and eat my cake and laugh while people are dying because I'm too weak still to defeat him?"

Dumbledore sighed, removed his glasses and pinched his nose as he thought before he leaned forward on his chair. "I have no magic words that will make your burden disappear, my boy. Only thing I can offer you right now are sympathetic ears and vague advises. I know your burden, Harry, but I also know there is nothing you can do about it yet. That prophecy tells us you will be the one to end this reign of terror Tom has put us under. I know it is a daunting prospect, and I know firsthand how powerful Tom is. But I also know you can succeed where I failed and accomplish even more. Maybe not yet, but you will defeat Lord Voldemort and save countless lives."

Harry shook his head, not only to deny Dumbledore's faith in him but to fight the tears burning his eyes and making things blurry. _So weak_ , he heard the ghost of Voldemort say. _How can you hope to defeat me when all you can do is weep as you realise how powerful I truly am?_

"Until then, you must allow us to fight the battles while you prepare to win the war." The old man let out an explosive breath and looked Harry right in the eye as a lone tear escaped his. "This burden, it is not yours to bear alone. We all must do our parts in this war and it is not your job to worry about the lives lost."

He left his chair and kneeled in front of Harry's, putting his hands on his young charge's shoulders. "Listen, Harry, and listen well. You are not responsible for them. I am. The ministry and the aurors are. Not you. No one could begrudge you a moment of happiness. On the contrary, we must hold on to these moments of peace and joy as hard as we can."

Harry couldn't fight the tears anymore, they demanded release. He felt powerless amongst titans; a mere toddler with the faith and fate of so many people on his shoulders.

He held onto his mentor's robes as the man hugged him to his chest and rocked him. Held on and allowed himself to stay weak just a moment longer.

He decided he would do as Dumbledore said. Harry would walk down to the garden and have the best birthday of his life and laugh despite Voldemort and just to spite him.

And when the sun would rise the next day, he would put a lock on his weakness and become the man that would defeat Voldemort. The man Dumbledore thought he could become.

It was a lighter and drier Harry that left the bathroom and joined the anxious group outside with a genuine smile on his face and Dumbledore on his tail. "What's with the long faces? This is a party, people, not a funeral."

He couldn't help but snort at the awkward reactions of his friends as they looked at Dumbledore with confused and unsure faces. The elderly headmaster just smiled merrily and sat on a chair he conjured with a flick of his wand.

Harry snickered at Headmaster's serene attitude, matched by Luna, as he sat down at the seat put aside for him right next to the biggest cake he had seen. "The cake looks delicious, Mrs. Weasley, thank you."

The red-headed woman seemed unsure how to respond but Ron didn't. "Can I eat it now?"

Ron being Ron eased the tensions all around and earned laughter from everyone. Harry gave an appreciative nod to his best mate as his best friend admonished him for his insensitivity, earning a new round of chuckles from everyone.

As Harry looked around, he realised the disrespect he showed so he jumped out of his seat. "Ah, forgive my rudeness, Mr and Mrs. Granger. Or is it Dr and Dr. Granger?" He shook his head to reorganise his thoughts as he moved towards Hermione's parents. "Sorry. Thank you for coming."

"Nice to meet you, son," Daniel Granger said as he shook the young wizard's hand.

"Nice to meet you too, sir," Harry responded before he turned to Hermione's mother. "I must say, I can see whom Hermione got her beauty from." He leaned in towards the woman and said in a stage whisper, "Though I still don't know about her hair."

"You mock my hair," Hermione jibed with a smile, "When you call that birds' nest on your head, hair?"

Harry bristled in faux-indignation. "I'll have you know it's a part of the Potter charm. That and the arrogance, or so Snape claims."

Hermione laughed, and it caused her chest to bounce a little, torturing Harry, as her mother joined the conversation. "Thank you for the compliments, Harry. And I'm so glad to meet you. Hermione talks highly of you," she said with a sly grin.

Harry copied her grin and sniffed. "She does, does she? To be honest, I'm not surprised. I'm something of a celebrity and have many fans. I always suspected Hermione was one."

"Did you just call me a fangirl?" Hermione asked in a sweet voice and Harry shivered at the reminder of Umbridge.

"Maybe," Harry answered unsurely, glancing around for an escape route. "I also called you beautiful, but you focus on the 'fangirl' part, you ungrateful... girl, you."

The brown-haired girl grinned as two of them forgot about her parents and returned to their seats. Her grin didn't last long before it turned to a worried frown. "Are you okay, Harry? You looked... What happened in Grimmauld Place?"

"Later," Harry whispered and smiled gently. "Don't worry about it. Though I will tell you this, I found what I will give you for your birthdays for the rest of our lives."

"What?" his best friend asked with furrowed brows.

"I cleaned out the library and the Lord's office," Harry answered. "And seeing as I don't know the first thing about organising a library, or that I am clueless about what most of those books say..." he trailed off with a smirk as he watched Hermione's eyes widen.

"But Sirius said some of those books have curses on them, dangerous ones," she said, though her excitement was visible.

Harry gave a careless one-shoulder shrug. "I'm sure it will be hard; learning how to break curses. It might even take you a month."

"Where are they now?" Hermione asked with the hunger for learning Harry loved in her eyes, shaking from excitement. "Are they here?"

Harry snickered, joined by Ron who was listening to them even while he talked Quidditch with Neville. "I brought a few with me but the rest is in Gringotts. Oh, that reminds me." He searched for Lupin around the table and found him in a whispered conversation with Tonks, their bodies inches apart though both had a predatory stance. "Hey, wolfie!" he called out, earning a glare from the wolf and a snort from both Hermione and Tonks. "Throw me Hermione's key, will ya?"

Lupin grumbled under his breath as he threw the key harder than he had to.

"Hey, now. Play nice or I'll have Tonks put a leash on you. I have a feeling she'd enjoy it," he joked with a sly grin and enjoyed both of their red faces.

"Fuck you, Potter," Lupin growled, but it was offset by the rise of the corners of his mouth in amusement.

"Ah, man! I'm so sorry. Is it your time of the month?" 

Lupin just huffed and turned back to his conversation only to find Tonks laughing silently at his expense.

"Here you go. You may have surmised it's a Gringotts' vault key. All the books are there, plus anything else of value we found," Harry told Hermione as he held out the key for her to take and shivered. "Only you, me and Dumbledore allowed in there, so keep it safe."

"That bad?" Hermione asked as she hesitantly took the key.

"I took a cursory look at some books. Nasty stuff. And when I say nasty, I don't mean 'sacrifice a virgin'. I mean 'boil a foetus with some onions, add a heart of a unicorn and some peppers, stir thirty minutes and eat it,' level of nasty."

Hermione's eyes widened before her face whitened in disgust. "That's sick!"

"Yep," Harry said with a cheerful smile. "I understand why Sirius bailed on his family at the first chance he got and how Bella ended up the way she did. Hell, I'm surprised Andromeda ended up a somewhat normal person."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but why not burn those books?"

"I will," Harry informed her with a solemn nod. "But not until this war is over, and then not until you tell me which books to burn, which to keep hidden and which to put into my library. We may need the knowledge in those books, as awful as that sounds. Not to use it but to find a weakness in Voldemort's methods. Besides, not all the books are dark. There are books in there about everything from healing to household charms."

Hermione's eyes went between Harry's and the key in her hand and back. "Okay," she said with a shaky nod and gulped down the residual revulsion.

"That was masterfully done, Mr. Potter," Ann-Marrie, Hermione's mother, congratulated.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said and looked away. "I wanted to make my friend happy and have her help me figure out what to do with some books."

"That's no doubt true, but the timing is suspicious, don't you think?" said Hermione's father with a booming laugh.

Hermione's expression went from confused to affronted in an instant. "If you think I would be distracted by the promise of books, you are mistaken, father," she informed them with a sniff and a raised nose.

Her mother winked at Harry and patted Hermione's hand from across the table. "Sure, honey. We all know books are only papers that are being wasted."

"Says the woman who reads almost as much as me," Hermione shot back and pointed two fingers at her parents. "And why are you two mocking me? I'm your daughter, you should support and protect me from wicked, wicked boys."

"Me? Wicked?" Harry said indignantly. "Point a sweeter, more well-behaving boy than me, you witch."

Hermione looked around and nodded towards Ron who was trying to consume a chicken without chewing or cutting it to pieces. "You may have a point there."

"Hey! I'm just as sweet if not sweeter than Harry," Neville complained as he joined them and sat next to Harry.

Harry patted his friend in the back as a welcome. "Pfft. You fart and snore in your sleep."

"You Judas! We promised what happens in the dorm stays in the dorm. How could you betray such a sacred promise?"

Harry shook his head and leaned back with a grin. "I don't think this is what Seamus had in mind when he made up that rule."

Neville screwed up his face in disgust, Hermione mirroring that. "Ugh. I don't know how you can share a room with him."

Neither boy answered though they both agreed with the girl.

The afternoon continued on the same vein, people joined their conversation and drifted away to talk to someone else. So it wasn't surprising that Harry's smile didn't dim throughout the day. If anything, it got brighter the more he talked and joked with his friends.

He loved these people; from the spacey Luna with her boundless imagination to Neville who had emerged out of his shell since Dumbledore's Army formed. From always hungry Ron to fiery Ginny and adventurous Bill. They were the closest thing he had to a family, and he realised he would choose them all over again in a heartbeat.

And he would fight for them and kill for them and die for them. Not because they would do the same for him, but because they deserved nothing less for the friendship and loyalty they offered him. This small group of big hearts was why he would win.

Let Voldemort and his servants stand in his way; Harry and his family would never give up and never bow down. And they would show the noseless bastard with the ego the size of Britain what true power is.

The group ate the cake and enjoyed fuzzy drinks with minimal alcohol in them as Harry was surrounded by friends who demanded he open his presents. He did so with a wide grin and shiny eyes.

Harry started with the gift the members of Order had gotten him together; a wand holster and books on self-defence and complicated defensive charms. He put them aside with a note to remind himself to buy a portable library when he went to Diagon Alley next.

The next was a survival kit from Moody with everything from a tumbler that detects any hazardous liquid to a self-igniting grill that never burned food. He rolled his eyes but thanked him as the retired professor returned to his vigilant guarding of the party.

Tonks' gift was next, and he grinned widely when he saw a book, _How to Make Your Lady Happy_. "Are you trying to tell me something, dear Nymphadora?" he asked with a leer.

"Yes, that you need to get laid," the shifter shot back as her chest got larger in her shirt.

Harry felt no need to hide his enjoyment as he enjoyed the new physique of the woman. "Are you offering?"

"In your dreams, Potter," she shot back.

Harry put a hand on his chest and a faux-fearful expression on his face. "How did you know? Are you stalking me at night to listen to my sweaty dreams, you pervert?"

Her only response was to grin and shot him a saucy wink that had Harry choking on his own saliva, much to the amusement of everyone.

"I thought you might enjoy the challenge," Lupin said to Harry before giving the boy two notebooks with detailed notes on their animagus training and the creation of Marauders' map.

Harry thanked the man purposefully as he caressed the book with his father, Sirius and Remus' handwriting all over it, ignoring the parts clearly written by a fourth, treacherous person.

The next gift from Lupin was something Sirius had been working on until his untimely death. A box with things the escapee thought Harry needed to put colour into his life. A note on how to use the Marauders' map on the amorous mode that showed available spots a couple may choose from. Three bottles of different alcohols. A book on charming ladies. A small box of condoms and contraceptive potions. Even a few rolls of what Harry thought was marijuana.

He ignored the snickers coming from the boys, the indignant sniff from the Weasley matriarch and the glare from Hermione. It was Ann-Marie's reaction he focused on. "Why, I haven't enjoyed one of those in years."

"Wait, what?" Hermione turned to her mother with shocked eyes. "You used to smoke weed?"

The beautiful brunette shifted in her seat as she looked at her grinning husband for help and found none. "Who said anything about weed? I meant the condoms."

The younger brunette's shock turned to confusion. "What?"

"Speaking of which, what is it with you Blacks and my love life?" Harry asked Tonks to change the subject after throwing a wink at Daniel.

"It's just so sad for such a lovely young man to still be a virgin," Tonks quipped with no shame.

"Who says I'm a virgin?"

"You are not?" Hermione asked, surprised and hurt, though Harry did not understand why.

"I am," Harry confessed with flaming cheeks. "But she didn't need to know that," he whispered harshly.

As everyone laughed at him, and with him, Harry turned his attention back on the gifts and opened the one from Dumbledore and McGonagall. He didn't understand why his school booklist was a gift but opened it nonetheless, only for two golden badges to clunk at the table as they fell.

Hermione was the first one to react, snatching both badges and turning them over to inspect them as Harry leaned in to glance at _his_ badges with an exasperated smile. "The one with the 'C' on it is the captain's badge," Hermione said as she passed it to him, her excitement overshadowed by her curiosity. She pointed at the one with two black wands and a silver shield. "I don't know what's this though."

"The faculty agreed to recognise Defence Association as a sanctioned study group," Dumbledore explained with twinkling eyes. "That is if you'd like to continue leading my army, Harry."

Harry latched on to the joke quickly and rose to his feet to salute his mentor. "Yes, sir, supreme leader Dumbledore, sir. I'd be honoured."

"At ease, general," Dumbledore said with a grin as everyone around them laughed.

Harry sat back and grinned at the headmaster. "We'll need to change the 'unofficial' name, won't we?"

"Indeed. While I'm honoured by the loyalty you all have shown, we wouldn't want people to think I'm training child soldiers to fight in my name."

"Yes, it wasn't the smartest decision we made last year." Harry waited a moment before he put his hand on his chest dramatically. "You're just trying to take advantage of me as an unpaid teacher!"

Dumbledore grinned at him, his eyes shining with the humour of the moment. "And I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for you meddling kids."

The reference went over the heads of everyone except the Grangers and Harry. "Really, Professor? Scooby Doo?," Hermione said disappointedly and shook her head. "You are far too old for this…" she trailed off, abandoning her own reference midway through.

"You know, I just realised how often Voldemort must have said something similar about three of us." Harry grinned wide and pointed at Ron and Hermione.

"Mostly you," Ron grumbled in good humour.

"We just tag along until the boss fight," Hermione joked, agreeing with the redhead.

"Don't say that," Harry admonished. "I'm nothing without my sidekicks."

Hermione snorted while Ron smiled, shook his head, looked down and sniffed. "I hate you, Potter, you glory hog. Why did you have to get the best nemesis?"

"Because I'm the handsome one between us. Everyone knows it's the hero who looks the best," Harry answered without a pause, raising his nose haughtily.

Taking Ron's silent grin as the end of the conversation, Harry turned his attention to the small Weasley pile, leaving Hermione's gift for the last. This pile had the usual sweets and sweater by Mrs. Weasley, and Harry had, to his embarrassment, teared up a little like he did every time he received a sweater. _It's disturbing to think how much I value these little tokens of acceptance. I'm a Weasley, not born and raised, but adopted._

From Bill, he received two books, one on Egyptian runes and one on curse breaking, or as Bill called it; Harry's beginner pack for his future career as a curse breaker. Harry thanked the red-head purposefully and cursed himself for not taking ancient runes instead of divination. _It's as good and option as becoming an Auror is._

Fleur's gift shocked him to silence like it did the rest of the group; a book on sex-based magic written by a veela for her kind. Not just about spells and potions to increase pleasure and fertility, but about simple rituals that involved sex, like blessing a field of crops. "It feels like you people are ganging up on me," he joked once he gained control of his faculties.

Fleur grinned unrepentantly and flicked her hair, causing it to flow around in a silvery hue. "Your future wife will zank me."

"I'm sure she will," Harry said, refusing to give into his reflexive desire to glance towards Hermione.

He turned his attention back to the unopened gifts, going for the ones the twins sent as they could not leave their shop. Hermione stopped him by gripping his arm with enough strength to leave a bruise. "I think we should leave those for later," she said in a strained voice. "We don't need those troublesome redheads to ruin the day with their pranks without even being here." 

Harry snorted but followed her advice, carefully putting the box with three 'W' on it aside. He opened Neville and Luna's gifts next, a book on plants with healing properties from the former and an odd set of earrings from the latter.

After thanking the duo who looked friendlier towards each other than ever, he turned his attention to the gift from Ginny and Ron. The star seeker of the Gryffindor team quite liked the protective gear with lightning bolts on them two redheads gave him.

And finally, it was time for the one gift that excited him the most, and Harry did not understand why. _It's not like Hermione hadn't been sending me gifts since the first Christmas after we became friends_. Still, he couldn't deny the rapid pace his heart set as he reached for the neatly wrapped packet, a book or books if the shape was any sign.

It was two books, one named The Book of Five Rings, the other The Intentional Stance. 

Harry turned to Hermione with a quizzical expression, asking, without words, why these books. He had received nearly a dozen books so far from the girl but they were all about magic except for the one he received at the start of the summer.

She shrugged and stayed silent, a small smile on her lips, daring him to read and find out. _Challenge accepted._

After the gift opening was over, Mrs. Weasley gave everyone a piece of cake and small groups formed to talk about everything and anything from the war to Quidditch.

Harry, he stayed out of the groups and strolled the garden with a burning question in his mind. _Why did everything about Hermione had become so important suddenly?_ Since when did he care whether she spent time with her family when last year, he didn't even think about her family? Why her gift made him nervous even before he opened it? And most importantly, since when her smile made his heart flutter and his mind go blank?

 _Love?_

It was a valid option, but one that fell short of being the full explanation. Love didn't explain the sudden need he had to read the books she gave him as soon as possible. Or why he wanted to share everything about his life with her and listen to all the details of her past and her plans about future.

 _What a fine pickle I find myself in again._

Still, he would enjoy this new focus in his life, whatever the reason and consequences. The brown-eyed girl with the scariest memory ever had suddenly become the most interesting person in his life. He'd be damned if he didn't give enough attention to her.

He looked up at the sky, finding the dog-star with no conscious effort, and had to laugh when the star shone brighter for a moment before dimming. Harry accepted the _magic_ of the moment, unwilling to consider that blink anything but a wink from a smiling Sirius. _What's so funny, you dirty dog?_

He understood the joke when Daniel Granger joined him in star gazing, standing next to the boy in silence for a long time. Neither man had the heart to disturb the peace as they watched the wonders of the universe and listened to the wondrous laughter coming from their friends.

There was no war in that one moment they shared, dentist to destined. No room for dark thoughts and ugly reality.

"I wanted to thank you," the tall man broke the silence after ten minutes.

Harry turned to the man and asked in a whisper, unwilling to disturb the moment more than he had to, "For what?"

"Hermione was so worried about you, we didn't have the heart to say no when she insisted on coming here," the loving father answered and glanced at the boy. "It feels like we are losing her to a world we can have no part in and we miss her."

Harry smiled at the man, seeing a part of Hermione in him and liking him more for it. "She's trying to adjust to and fit two sides of her together, but with everything going on, it's hard on her. Give her time and I'm sure she'll find a balance."

"I know," the dirty-blonde man said with a grin. "She's stubborn. Won't rest easy until she found a solution." He waited for a breath before continuing, shifting on his feet. "I also know it was you who convinced her to spend time with us. Not that she didn't want to, but she had other concerns."

"Family is important," Harry told the man in a strained voice. "She knows that. She needed a little nudge so she could enjoy her time with you without feeling like she abandoned me to my grief."

And that was that. The two men, one dentist, the other destined, returned to their silent contemplation and star gazing.

Their serenity didn't last long before the laughing female Grangers noticed their absence and dragged them back to the celebration.

It was a magical night Harry would cherish throughout the darkness ahead.

| O |

August 8, 1996

Any trip with the Weasley clan was an adventure and excitement in and of itself. It was no different as they, with Harry, the Grangers and three other Order members in tow, entered the alley through Leaky Cauldron. Such a group was bound to attract attention, which was why it surprised no one as people stopped with raised eyebrows at the sight of such a diverse group.

Then the gawking began and the whispers and the finger-pointing followed soon after when people realised their 'chosen one' was amongst them. With him a contingent of redheads, brunettes, a metamorphmagus, a veela and a known werewolf. Harry sighed and tried to ignore them even while their hopeful expressions tugged at his heart.

He failed when a small girl squealed and looked at him with her wide, brown eyes and a toothless smile.

The young boy tried, hard, but failed and smiled at the adorable girl and winked at her.

The girl ran away, giggling, as the crowd took courage from his personable action and closed in on them, turning the already narrow alleyway even more claustrophobic.

Their claustrophobia didn't last long thanks to the aurors the ministry sent for protection who dispersed the gawkers after a few minutes. The group decided to split up, Harry and Grangers to the bookstore with Tonks and Lupin while the Weasley clan would buy the other necessities. They agreed to meet up at Fred and George's shop.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and smiled when he realised Hermione was hugging his arm and hadn't let go as they made their way towards the bookstore. That smile didn't leave his lips when Hermione dashed away the moment they entered one of her personal heavens. He didn't know how he failed to admire it until now, that joy in her eyes when she was surrounded by books.

Mrs. Granger patted him on the arm, rolled her eyes and followed her daughter at a more sedate pace.

Harry did his own perusing for a change, to see if there is a book that captured his attention. He had never, and probably would never, be an avid reader. He preferred to learn on the go, like how he had mastered the Patronus charm. But he knew he couldn't leave things to chance anymore. If he had to defeat Voldemort, he had to know his limits; his strength and his weaknesses.

He couldn't rely on luck and his friends and his biggest asset couldn't be the experiences he gained thanks to his death-defying adventures.

No, Harry had to know what spells he could cast, how fast he could cast them and for how long he could use magic without tiring himself. He had to know what type of magic he was best at and what type of magic he sucked at. He had to improve on both as he incorporated them into his fighting style.

Dumbledore was a master of transfiguration, and it showed in his duel in the ministry when he expertly manipulated his environment to defend and attack. Voldemort was a master of the dark arts and battle magic, and he more than proved it in the ministry when he used them to wear down Dumbledore's defences.

As they left the bookstore, Harry marvelled at the weight of his bag and shook his head at the limited selection of books the store had. He had found only two books, other than his school books, that seemed useful.

Harry and Hermione entered Madam Malkin's clothing store with only Mrs. Granger, the rest opting to wait outside, and found it empty at first glance. Until a most hated voice came from behind a rack of dress robes that is. "I'm not a child, in case you haven't noticed, mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone."

Madam Malkin felt it necessary to defend the irritants mother, "Now, dear, your mother is right. None of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own anymore. It's nothing to do with being a child-"

"Watch where you're sticking that pin, will you?!"

Draco Malfoy, with his blonde hair sticking to his forehead, appeared from behind the rack, wearing an expensive looking dark green robe. He strode to the mirror to examine himself; admire himself. A long moment passed before he noticed red-faced Harry and Hermione's presence and his eyes narrowed.

Neither Harry nor Hermione could hold their laughter in any longer, not when Malfoy's expression turned pinched and paler than normal. So they laughed without reservation, knowing the entertainment was over now that the ponce realised them.

"If you are wondering what that smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in."

Harry and Hermione just laughed harder, ignoring the confused and indignant look on Mrs. Granger's face. "Ah, Draco. You are always good for a laugh," Harry said when his laughter subsided and cleaned his eyes at his sleeve after taking off his glasses. "You made my day, man."

The blonde sneered, hating being laughed at but not understanding why he was laughed at. "What are you talking about, Scarhead?"

"Nothing," Harry answered, still giggling, as he led Hermione towards a chair with a hand on her back. "Absolutely nothing." He motioned for both Grangers to take a seat before turning his attention back to the blonde boy.

There was an awkward silence as Malfoy looked as if he wanted to say something but didn't know what before his mother and Madam Malkin joined them. The aristocratic looking blonde woman looked at the three interlopers and raised her nose as if she smelled shit before turning at the plum owner. "It's such a shame to see once a fine establishment serving the scum."

"Oh, no, my lady," Harry said with a wide smile, "Your husband and his friends don't shop here anymore. They prefer prison uniforms now."

"Don't talk about my father like that, you filthy mongrel!" the younger Malfoy hissed, his pale face reddening in anger.

Harry turned to the boy with a raised eyebrow and visibly drew his wand. He knew better than to stay unarmed in front of a potential enemy.

Hermione latched on to his arm immediately to stop him from doing anything foolish. "Harry, you mustn't. You'll get in trouble."

Draco, seeing the exchange, couldn't help but sneer and goad Harry. "What are you going to do, Scarhead? Hex me? You don't have the guts to face another inquiry like last year."

Harry chuckled and looked at Malfoy over his glasses, a move he witnessed Dumbledore use often when he wanted to intimidate someone while still giving off grandfather vibes. "I think, dear Draco, you overestimate my intelligence." He stopped and screwed up his face. "No, wait. Let me try that again." He drew a deep breath and spoke in a low voice. "I think, dear Draco, you underestimate my stupidity." His head dropped, so did his shoulders. "That didn't sound right either."

He shook his head and winked at the boy's mother. "I'll have to get back to you with a witty response at a later time, Draco. For now, sit silent while the grown ups talk. Now, where were we? Oh, yes, your incarcerated husband. How is Lucius these days? Still has his soul? Not that he had much to begin with."

Narcissa Malfoy's expression didn't change except for a small twitch upwards in the corner of her mouth that betrayed her amusement at Harry's short stand-up. Now that Harry had a moment to take in her appearance, he realised she looked paler than the last time he saw her and had dark rings under her eyes. She still looked utterly gorgeous to his teenage eyes though. "You shouldn't speak of things you don't understand, Mr. Potter."

From her seat, Hermione squeezed his arm, either to calm Harry or share her amusement. If it was the first option, it was redundant as he was enjoying himself, though such a reaction was contrary to his usual level of composure so he understood her reflex. "Don't go breaking my heart, now," he said with a lazy grin, his guts telling him this was nothing more than a banter for either of them. His blonde schoolmate seemed to think differently if his dark expression was a sign. "Anyway, let us speak of more pleasant topics. How was your summer? Any guests in that lovely mansion of yours?"

The daughter of Black family chuckled coldly, a cruel smirk gracing her lips. _She's hot, even while looking like a well dressed corpse_. "You must find out for yourself and you will. We look forward to hosting you."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the veiled threat and put away his wand. "My, my. Aren't you a hospitable woman?" he asked before suddenly turning serious. "Isn't it tiring? If it were me, I'd want a break from playing host, especially with your social circle. I'd want to go on a vacation on a tropic island and work on my tan."

Mrs. Malfoy's smirk faltered, eyes widening in surprise, but she composed herself quickly and put a hand on her son's shoulder to lead him out of the shop. The son looked at his mother in surprise and hurried out of the robe he was wearing. "That's the difference between us, Mr. Potter," Narcissa Malfoy spoke in a smooth voice. "We don't shrink from our duties."

"Heh, duties. I'm Sirius Black's godson; for me, duty is just a word people who don't know how to have fun use as an excuse. We, the good guys, are good at doing the right thing and have fun and look good doing it." He smiled, this time considerably softer than before as he remembered the man he had spent so little time with yet left such a big impact on his life. "Speaking of my late godfather, he mentioned this wonderful island he had a small hut on. He couldn't shut up about it. I plan to rent it until this unpleasantness is over, so if you end up deciding to take a vacation, remind me to check my estate records."

"Already planning an escape from the Dark Lord, Mr. Potter? What would your adoring fans say?" the blonde woman asked, her sneer returning with full force.

"I've never been the one to care about their opinions, but still, I'm not going anywhere. The Dark Lord knows where to find me if he's so inclined to face me," Harry answered, not knowing where his bravado was coming from. "Now that you mentioned, he's been uncharacteristically quiet this past month. I wonder if his injuries are worse than I first assumed?"

The older lady just chuckled and left the store with his son in tow, leaving Harry disappointed at her lack of answer. _She could have at least given me a clue._

"I'm confused," Hermione said as Harry turned to her, her facial expression agreeing with her words. "Did you just flirt with, insult and offer assistance to Malfoy's mother in the span of five minutes?"

"Not flirt," Harry denied vehemently, shaking his head to add credence to his words. "Never that. I may be a teenager that admires a body like hers but I'm not that desperate. Can you imagine that cold woman in bed? She'd either eat my... you know, or it'd be no different from necrophilia."

The brown-eyed beauty snorted at his description. "Yeah, I don't know which is worst, her or her husband."

Harry nodded in agreement and shuddered. "Those two make sense in an odd way, don't you think? Both functioning psychopaths, cold and unfeeling. No wonder poor Draco grew up to be so screwed in the head."

It was then Madam Malkin interrupted them nervously, wanting to get rid of the people who would say the name of the most feared man in the Britain so carelessly.

Their clothes shopping didn't take long, even though Harry bought new clothes for himself at the urge of Mrs. Granger, thanks to Madam Malkin's offer to owl them. Harry thought about insisting he get his clothes now just to see what would the tense woman say, but didn't. It wasn't in his blood to play with people like that.

Rest of their shopping trip went by with no problems. Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes was an obnoxiously colourful place and Harry had to give it to the twins, they knew how to market their products. Though he did pause and wondered the morality of selling love potions. _I must talk to Hermione and the twins about that._

The only excitement during the trip came in the form of youngest Malfoy, again, when they saw him sneak to Knockturn Alley without his mommy and followed him to Borgin and Burkes, a store specialised in dangerous artefacts. They watched and listened as the boy threatened the owner and told him to keep the 'another' one of something safe.

Harry was of two minds about what Malfoy was doing. He wanted to learn more because he was sure the boy was planning revenge but it was too hard to give a damn about a ploy of someone like Draco Malfoy. The blonde was an irritant at best and a headache at worst.

 _Now, his father, blonde ponce Sr., would worry me. The last two times that arsehole tried something, he either let loose a bloody basilisk or he sat a trap for me and my friends.  
_  
| O |

August 18, 1996

Harry was having an epiphany as he watched Ginny throw a worn-out quaffle and speed across the orchard to catch it again; passion turned him on.

For the last month he spent in the Burrow, he had continued to work on both forms of meditation, which meant a lot of contemplation and soul searching. Especially about the subjects of girls. _I_ am _a teenage boy; a war isn't enough to change that._

With his confusing reactions to Hermione's presence and actions, he had began to wonder what made her different, what made him react to her differently. So, he looked at the only relationship he had, if one could call the train wreck between him and Cho a relationship.

The first time he noticed Cho had been on the Quidditch field when the dark-haired beauty had tried everything she could to win the game. She was not only hungry for success; she was gorgeous doing it.

So, it was understandable for him to place her at the top of his list of girls to fantasise about. She was passionate about something he loved and was objectively beautiful.

Then he wondered what changed to make his infatuation go away. It was obvious in hindsight, and it wasn't the tears or the sadness, though they hurt her case more than helped. What cost her his interest was the way she abandoned her passion. On Quidditch field, he first admired her, and when she lost her… drive about that, he lost his interest.

Harry didn't like this realisation about himself. Oh, he hated it. Not only because it made him appear heartless, like he was a fair-weather friend, it meant he didn't have the one quality he looked for.

He, a boy who spent most of his days lazing about and doing nothing, was looking for passion as a primary quality in a girlfriend. _Bah, I'm a hypocrite._

In all honesty, he might be a little hard on himself. He was passionate about Dumbledore's Army, but mostly because it made him feel in control. He liked Quidditch, a lot, but seeing Ginny train as hard as she was, put it in perspective.

 _I need a hobby, something that will help me grow. Something that I will go back for more at every chance I get, not because I have to but because I wanted to._

He shook his head and focussed on what this new revelation meant to him. Did he fancy Hermione because she was an inherently passionate girl? And if so, why now and not before? Hermione hadn't changed all of a sudden. She was the same girl she had been for the last year and the year before that.

 _Did I change then? Why is it that idea of dating Hermione went from 'she's like a sister' to 'yes, yes, oh lord, yes?' And how can I be sure this isn't a temporary infatuation like with Cho?_

Oh, how he missed the days his only concern was smuggling a dragon or stopping Snape from stealing a magical artefact he was never even after. _No hormones, just plain old childish stupidity._

Still, he had to admit he enjoyed this infatuation or whatever it is he had with Hermione. It spiced things up. And frankly, he was enjoying the changes in himself. For him to calmly trade insults with Narcissa Malfoy, flirt with Hermione and cry his hearts out to Dumbledore… It was freeing, like he had set free a part of him he had unknowingly locked away in the deepest pits of his personality.

His musings were interrupted, thankfully, because he had a lot of those lately, by Mr. Weasley, who was enjoying his one of rare off days. The man had been working on his new job so long and hard, Harry was sure he would soon drop from exhaustion. "Are you enjoying the view, Harry?" the kindly man joked, nodding his head towards the apple of his eye and his only daughter.

"Do you want the truth or for me to answer like the nervous teenager I am?" Harry asked with a smile, that while was genuine, wavered enough to make the second part of his question reasonable.

"Let's go with the truth. We are family, there is no need to be nervous when you are speaking to family."

 _Don't go making me cry, Mr. Weasley._ "I do enjoy watching her train. I don't think it's about 'her' as much as it's about the passion she has for what she does."

The redhead raised both eyebrows in surprise. "That's a well thought out answer."

Harry leaned on the wall to further take advantage of the protection the house offered from the afternoon sun. "I've been thinking about this sort of things lately, trying to make sense of my emotions and all that rot."

The father of seven smiled pityingly at Harry. "Oh, do tell."

The father of none hesitated for a moment before deciding if he couldn't ask Mr. Weasley, he couldn't ask anyone. "How do you know when you are in love?"

"The million galleon question," the red-headed father commented with a nod and gazed towards his daughter with unfocussed eyes. "My father used to say, 'marry someone you know you'll want even when you hate their guts.' I think it's a good advice, but it doesn't say everything that needs to be said." He shook his head and smiled. "No, the way I see it, love is when you don't feel the need to fill the silence. When you can sit together and just be and still enjoy and crave her company."

"Huh," was all Harry could say.

"Anyone specific you are considering?" the older man asked the younger, no pressure or danger in his tone, only curiosity for the life of one of his sons.

"I find myself changed from last year," Harry answered with, dodging the question for the time being. _I am so not ready to make my feelings known and put undue pressure on either myself or Hermione._ "And I can't figure out how much and why, or even if I like it."

"You are a teenager, Harry," said Mr. Weasley with a laugh. "You are growing up and shaping into the man you are suppose to be. Even I, at the age I am, change from year to year. That's what life does to you."

"Then how can I promise anyone a tomorrow? How can I tell someone I fancy them when I'm not sure if I will continue to fancy them the next day or month?"

Mr. Weasley put a hand on Harry's shoulder to steer him towards the woods where they could talk privately and enjoy the cooler shades the trees offered. "You do it. Starting a relationship is like finding the right wand. You try a wand and if it doesn't work for you, you try another. Maybe this one doesn't work either, or maybe it works but doesn't feel natural to you, it feels forced. So you try another. And another. And another. You try until you find the one you recognise will be by your side forever."

As he listened to the older man and walked, Harry's eyes kept getting bigger and bigger. "That sounds tiring and full of heartbreak all around."

The redhead nodded while he walked to a boulder like he had put it there and sat. "We all look for a companion, Harry, and we all make mistakes on the road to finding them. Heartbreak and pain are a part of life. Don't fear them, embrace them for what they are: experiences. Experiences that will shape who you are and experiences you will one day tell your grandchildren about, if you are lucky enough to have one, and laugh." He smiled at the boy and patted on the boulder next to him. "Now, why don't you tell me what makes you fearful about this mystery girl of yours?"

Harry did as the man indicated and sat next to him with a sigh. "That's a long list. First, I'm worried I'll make an arse of myself and get rejected. Second, I'm afraid if the relationship doesn't work out, I'll lose a dear friend. I'm unsure whether what I feel is something I can base a relationship on or if it's just hormonal misgivings of a teenager. And let's not forget the added worry of putting a target on her back by dating her."

Mr. Weasley whistled and smiled. "That's life for you, son. Everyone has the same worries and fears. The question you have to ask yourself is, is she worth it? Is she worth the potential pain and embarrassment you will suffer? If so, you would do yourself a great injustice if you don't pursue it. If not, that's your answer, anyway."

 _Does she worth it?_ Harry needed to think only a moment to know the answer without a shred of doubt. _Hermione is worth all that and more._ "The next question is, how I pursue it?" he groaned, putting his head between his hands with a fake sob. "Why couldn't my hormones wait a few more years, just until I dealt with Voldemort for a final time, to kick in? This is so not the time to have added complications in my life."

The redhead next to Harry chuckled. "It's never a good time, yet always is."

"Oh, don't talk in riddles like Dumbledore does, please, Mr. Weasley."

"Now, now, Harry. You'll understand how fun it is once you become a father," Mr. Weasley said in a mocking tone. "How you pursue it? Well, when I first noticed Molly, I gave her a bouquet and asked her for a date to get to know her. But from little clues I gathered, you are already close with your intended. You should, perhaps, make little gestures to show your interest. Nothing overt, just so she'll know you appreciate her, so you can gauge her interest. Little gifts with no value but that of a sentimental kind."

"That sounds… doable."

"It is," the older man agreed. "Harry, you realise this already but I feel like I must remind you. Just because we are at war, doesn't mean you should stop living. That would mean you are only surviving."

Harry couldn't help the bitter chuckle that escaped his lips. "You have no idea how on point, yet wrong you are, sir." When the man looked at him inquisitively, he explained, "I'm guessing you already deduced the prophecy you were guarding last year was about me." The redhead nodded. "There is a line in there; _neither can live while the other survives._ I literally can't live while Voldemort survives. Fates ordained so," he spat.

Arthur looked at the young boy with sad and pity filled eyes and sighed. "I don't know about you, but I always thought _divination_ was an imprecise and convoluted art. An art should take heed of but allow for a certain literary licence. What I'm trying to say is, listen only to the warning it provides you, but don't live your life according to it. Do what you want and let the chips fall where they may."

Harry nodded to the man and laid back on the stone to watch the clouds pass by, trying to process the advice of the man. Neither said anything, neither had to, and the young boy understood what the experienced man meant by 'not feeling the need to fill the silence'. It was a level of comfort Harry was sure he wouldn't have with many people and, was surprised to find, he had with Mr. Weasley. Harry could be this comfortable with only Hermione and Ron, or he thought so but maybe he could add Mr and Mrs Weasley and Professor Dumbledore to that small list.

 _And Sirius, if he was still alive._

Still, it was nice to have parent figures in his life, even if they didn't have real ties to his dead parents. _I wonder._

 _Are you pleased with the family I found, Mother?_


	4. Lessons On Objectivity

September 1, 1996

 _There is something calming about the rhythmic sound a train makes,_ Harry thought as he watched the passing scenery while keeping an absent ear on Luna and Neville discussion on some plant he had no chance of pronouncing the name of. He allowed his mind to wander free, the mechanic sounds that came from the tracks working like magic.

He was of two minds about this journey. On one hand, he was going home. But he had enjoyed his time at Burrow and the freedom that came with. He had done whatever he desired except for a garden degnoming or two but even that was fun. The little bastards were amusing, shaking their little fists and making rude gestures.

The most problematic part of going back to Hogwarts was his meditation exercises. He had no idea how he would fit them into his schedule and where he would exercise. _I'll just have to figure that out, won't I?_

Hermione and Ron returned to the compartment from their prefects' meeting after twenty minutes of absence, arguing as usual. "... have another thing coming, Ronald!"

Harry rolled his eyes and raised a questioning eyebrow at Ron, who shook his head. "It was just a candy, Hermione, geez!"

Hermione just shook her head and threw herself next to Luna. "I love that even with everything changing around us, you two never stop fighting, like siblings," Harry said, a small smile playing on his lips.

Hermione started and glanced at Ron with wide eyes like she was seeing him for the first time. Meanwhile, Ron flushed, the redness of his face making his freckles all the more obvious, and shook head. "What siblings? I thought everyone said we bicker like an old married couple?" he asked, honestly confused by all of it.

"I don't see it," Harry disagreed. "I mean compare it to your family. I've never seen your parents bicker. But you, the twins, Ginny and Percy, you are always at each other's throats even though you obviously love each other."

That's when the compartment door opened once again, by a breathless girl who looked to be a year or two younger than Harry. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to talk but faltered at the five faces looking at her expectantly, her wide eyes focussed on Harry.

Harry smiled at the shy girl. "What's your name?"

"Ke-Kelly," the girl blushed and stammered.

"Hi, Ke-Kelly. I'm Ronald Weasley," he said with the same smile.

"No, you're not!" the girl said, no longer shy but indignant. "You're Harry Potter."

Harry scratched his head and winked at the beaming Luna. "Are you sure? I could swear I woke up Ron this morning."

The girl stomped her foot, "Yes, you are. Now, will you stop acting like a fool so I can give you these bloody invitations Professor Slughorn sent?"

His eyebrows raising at surprise, the fool nodded. "You've got a dirty mouth," he said to the girl and paused with a grin. "I like it."

The girl rolled her eyes but couldn't help the blush that rose to her cheeks. "One for you, one for Neville Longbottom and one for Hermione Granger."

As soon as the girl delivered the invitations and left, Harry groaned and hit his head on the wall on his back. "I didn't think he'd start so early."

"Who's Slughorn and what did he start?" asked Neville, looking at his invitation as if it was a great puzzle.

The only boy who met the professor shrugged and stood, leaving it to Hermione to explain. It wasn't that Harry had anything against his new potions professor; he didn't know the man enough to dislike him, but chatting him and lord knows who else up wasn't a priority on his to-do list.

As the three friends traversed the corridors, the hair on the back of Harry's head stood to notice. He would have been worried, if he wasn't all too aware of the looks he received from his fellow students. Not knowing how he felt about the stares filled with hope and awe, he ignored them. _Don't look at me like I owe you something. Not after the treatment you gave me last year,_ he screamed at them in his head, keeping his calm on the outside. _I guess I'm still a little bitter about last year._

They finally reached the compartment C per Slughorn's instructions and walked in after knocking on the door. "Ah, Harry, my boy, it's good to see you again."

Harry put a smile on his face and shook the portly man's hand. "It's good to see you, Professor. I was glad to have heard you accepted Professor Dumbledore's offer."

The professor laughed and patted Harry on the back, leading him further into the compartment with a lavish table. "How could I refuse the chance to teach a bright man like you?" He turned to Harry's two companions and gave a once-over to Hermione. "And this must be Miss Granger you told me all about." He winked at Harry. "The brightest witch of her age, eh? It seems you Potter men have a type."

Hermione blushed and looked at Harry questioningly as the boy smiled widely. "It does seem that way, doesn't it?" He put a hand on Neville's shoulder, looking away from Hermione just in time to miss her surprised and confused expression. "And sir, allow me to introduce Neville Longbottom, the boy with the greenest thumb you'll find on this side of the sphere."

"Ah, yes, Alice and Frank's baby boy. How are you, Mr. Longbottom?"

"I-I'm well, sir, thank you."

The man seemed to space out for a moment before he returned to the present. "Well, what are you waiting for? Settle down. I arranged for us to have a little lunch."

Harry and his friends did so, Harry at the centre with Hermione to his right and Neville to his left. As soon as they settled on their seats, Hermione leaned in to whisper, "You told him about me?"

"I did," Harry confirmed with a nod as he put a napkin on his legs like he'd seen in the movies with fancy table settings. "You were a big part of my pitch."

"Oh, and what a pitch it was, let me tell you," Slughorn joined them a jovial tone, pouring wine on both of their glasses. "Expertly done for a boy your age. First act humble and establish yourself as an easy pray, then go for the jugular."

"Not so expertly done, sir, if I was so easy to read," Harry said humbly and with a wink.

The man gave a bellyful laugh at Harry's reopening act as he moved to his own seat. "I've been a teacher since... let's say a long time ago. I know a thing or two about how students think."

"What do I have to do with it?" Hermione asked before she blushed and added, "Sir?"

"A little impatient, aren't we?" the potions master asked with amusement colouring his voice as Harry glanced around at the other students in the table, recognising only three. Blaise Zabini, a black boy in Harry's year from Slytherin; Cormac McLaggen, a seventh year Gryffindor; and Ginny, who looked like a deer caught in headlights.

Harry turned his attention back to Hermione to explain, "I used you as a bate. I told Dumbledore he should have taken you with him instead, that you were better at everything."

"And it was a genius move when you think about it," Slughorn added with a touch of pride, though Harry had no idea why the man would be proud of him. "He made you out to be someone better at magic than the _Chosen One._ "

"Think about it this way," Harry said when he saw Hermione's confused expression, "What would you think if Dumbledore mentioned someone as his better? I'm already famous, my accomplishments are easy to discover. You are an unknown still, and it's easier to fall for a mystery than a flesh and blood."

"Wow," butted in Zabini, a disdainful look on his eyes. "I knew you were arrogant but this? Comparing yourself to Dumbledore? Man, that takes the cake."

Harry ignored the uncomfortable grimace on Slughorn's face and gave the boy a deadpan look. "Well, I am the most well-known name of our age, just like Dumbledore is of his. And seeing as our new Professor here," he nodded towards Slughorn, "Had only second-hand knowledge of my talents, I had wiggle room to make that comparison." He shook his head at the disdain all Slytherins seemed to have for him.

The black boy scoffed. "Fine, you may have a point there, but overselling Granger? Really?"

Harry threw a wide smirk at the boy. "Did you know Hermione brewed Polyjuice potion in our second year?" Ignoring the shocked looks of everyone and embarrassed squeak of Hermione, he continued, "You didn't? That's understandable. Did you hear she received eleven 'Outstanding' and one 'Exceeds Expectations in her OWLs, rivaling the likes of Dumbledore and Tom Riddle? Or she can cast a fully corporeal patronus? No? Well, we'll chalk your snide comment up to ignorance then."

Harry couldn't be sure because of the boy's skin tone but he thought he saw a blush.

"Brewed Polyjuice at such a young age," Slughorn said, awed by Hermione's accomplishments. "Extraordinary."

"That, she is," Harry whispered with a soft smile aimed at the brown-eyed girl who blushed like a monochromic Christmas tree.

"Shut up," Hermione hissed under her breath to the green-eyed boy," Before I faint due to blood rush to the head."

Harry snorted and patted the girl on the shoulder, his hand lingering longer than necessary. "Just an unbiased observation, Hermione. You _are_ extraordinary," he insisted, keeping his voice low to keep their conversation private as the professor stroke up a conversation with other students at the table.

The rest of the lunch went by in a better mood, Slughorn asking everyone about their parents and talking about the people he knows. Everyone in the room realised he was trying to strike up a report with his chosen students as he was making no effort to make it seem natural. He did make sure to involve Harry in most of the conversations, marking the boy as an early favourite of his.

The sky was already darkening when the four friends left the compartment, each more tired than usual as the tension bled out of their bodies. Harry watched as Zabini entered the same cabin as Malfoy and considered joining him under his invisibility cloak for a fleeting moment, but decided not to.

As they made their way back to their compartment and to Luna and Ron, Harry bumped into someone's back, knocking them both off balance and to the ground, Harry landing on top of the unfortunate girl. _Only I would manage to land on top of my ex,_ Harry thought as he blushed at the proximity of the beautiful girl's face, remembering a time not so long ago when those pink lips were on his.

He stood up abruptly and took a cursory look around before he held out his hand to help Cho. The oriental girl smiled back shyly and took the offered hand.

"Thanks-"

"Sorry-"

The two nervous children chuckled after they spoke simultaneously, the shared amusement easing the tension both felt. "Can we talk?" Harry asked suddenly, surprising even himself.

The raven-haired beauty nodded and looked down to hide her blush, failing miserably.

The raven-haired boy turned to his friends, two of which were glaring at him while the only male was grinning. "I'll see you guys back at the compartment in a few."

Both girls huffed and left, throwing their hair in an odd show of synchronisation, leaving behind a befuddled Neville who shrugged. "Sure, Harry. Hurry, though, we are just about there and we still need to change."

"Will do, Nev, thanks." Harry watched his friend walk away before turning to his once-paramour and taking in her appearance. She looked beautiful in her short, black skirt that allowed for a nice view of her long legs, and her tight, dark blue blouse, that clutched her torso like a second skin. "Walk with me?"

The girl nodded, and they set a slow pace as they both gathered up their courage. "I'm sorry-" they began at the same time once again, chuckling right after once again.

Harry took the lead the next time, wanting to get the guilt off his chest. "I'm sorry for how I acted last year. I was rude and inconsiderate. A berk."

"No, it was my fault," the girl disagreed. "I was a mess, and I dragged you into my confusion and frustration."

The boy smiled at the girl, amused that they were so in synch only now when they weren't dating. "Let's agree that we both messed up. We weren't in any position to make a relationship work, were both damaged goods."

"Agreed," the girl said with a nod, making her hair fall in front of her face. She huffed it away, or at least tried, and failed, before using her hand to accomplish it, taking her frustration out on her dark tresses.

Harry stopped walking and shuffled his feet nervously, unsure about how he should go about the next part. Screwing up his face and gathering his courage, he went with brutal honesty. "And I'm sorry, you were right."

Cho looked confused for all of three seconds before understanding set in her face, proving why she was in Ravenclaw by figuring Harry's mystery apology quicker than most could. "It's okay," she said, and seeing Harry's surprise, she insisted, "Really, it is. I can't say I'm not disappointed but I know you yourself were confused about your emotions. I know I was. About you, about Cedric. Last year just wasn't a good year for either of us."

"Yeah," the boy agreed, scratching the back of his head. "Oh, and I'm sorry I was so hard on you about your friend, Marietta. I'm still mad at her for betraying us but I guess I understand why she did."

The girl smiled brightly, reminding Harry one of the reasons he had become obsessed with her in the first place. "So, you'll fix her face?"

Harry smiled back, relieved that they found a common ground on all of their issues. "I don't even know what sort of spell it was, but I'll talk to Hermione and find out if I can get her to do it."

"Thanks," the girl said, giving Harry's arm a squeeze before snatching her hand away like it was on fire, some awkwardness returning. "I... Can I ask you for something?"

"Sure."

"I-" She huffed and screwed up her courage. "Can I kiss you?" she asked and hastily added when she saw Harry's apprehension, "Just one kiss. The only time we kissed; I was crying, and you were a statue, and I don't want to look back and wonder..."

 _Come on, Potter! I understand I have decided to pursue a relationship with Hermione but when a beautiful girl asks to kiss you, you say yes! There is nothing between you and Hermione yet! Come on! Why am I frozen? God dammit, not again! Kiss her! Oh, no, she looks like she will cry._ After that last thought, Harry plunged ahead, catching the girl by a surprise with his lips all over her. It took Cho only a few moments to respond. _Now, this is more like it,_ Harry thought as he deepened the kiss, enjoying the sensations coursing through his body, especially in lower regions.

They broke apart after what felt like wondrous hours but was probably a minute at most, both breathing hard, both with wide smiles on their faces. "If you don't mind, I'll consider this my first kiss instead of that disaster last year," Harry wheezed out in between breaths.

"Understandable," Cho said before taking his hand and pulling him to an empty compartment and reattaching herself at Harry's lips.

Harry responded to the kiss with equal fervour, his hormones demanding he do so, before his doubts crept back into his mind and he gently pushed the girl away. He looked her in the eye and gulped at the desire he witnessed there, feeling like a prey under a lioness' gaze. "We shouldn't. I... I want to pursue whatever this is I have for Hermione and I don't want to lead you on."

"Who said anything about leading on?" Cho smiled hungrily, making Harry feel like he was a piece of tasty meat.

 _How is that a bad thing?_

"We are just two people, enjoying each other. This," she pointed between them as she closed the distance," need not leave this compartment. It doesn't have to turn into anything more than a fling, a moment of _ecstasy_ ," she said the last part in a low, seductive tone, making Harry shiver.

 _I am doing it again! Why question a pretty girl who's throwing herself at you?_ And even though Harry's second mind, one he didn't know he possessed, insisted, he had enough control of his faculties, and enough strength of character to make sure. "Are you sure? I feel like we are at a good place in our relationship and I don't want there to be any hard feelings."

Cho rolled her pretty eyes and ghosted her hand over Harry's chest before finding his hair and playing with it. "I'm sure, Harry. This doesn't leave the compartment and doesn't mean a future for us." She leaned in and captured his lips again, her arms snaking around Harry's neck and pulling him to her.

Harry's hands found her waist as he moaned into the kiss at the feel of her body and their kiss turned hungrier. Cho's hands left his neck to push his chest, manoeuvring him to the bench. As soon as Harry's back hit the seat, Cho was on top of him, straddling him and moving in hypnotic and highly pleasurable motions, driving Harry crazy.

Harry felt daring and grabbed a handful of the girl's bum, massaging it. That action earned him an erotic moan that was a torture to his libido, making his want, his desire, simply more, and she showed her appreciation by grinding herself on him more fervently. Harry's pants felt too tight like he was about to burst them open or he was about to burst, period.

Cho's amplifying moans showed she was having a similar rise to the top, her rhythmic movements on Harry quickening with passion. Her lips left his, eliciting a disappointed moan from Harry, before they found his jugular and sucked, turning his moans into that of utmost pleasure. Harry slipped his hand under her skirt, enjoying the warmth of her behind as he kneaded both firm cheeks.

He felt pleasure and pressure rise and rise until there were nowhere to go but down and he burst with loud moans and grunts, copied by the girl on top of him.

He returned to consciousness at the same time with the girl on top of him, both breathing heavier than during the most demanding Quidditch match they played. Both grinning like fools, with red faces and joyful eyes.

Cho gave the boy chaste kisses on all over his face, leaving burning sensations behind before she leaned back to look at him in the eye with a grin, still not leaving her comfortable seat on him. "Don't you feel stupid for resisting now?"

Harry chuckled, feeling on top of the world like nothing could touch him. "Damn right, I do. That was..." he trailed off, unable to come up with any word other than 'pleasurable' and unwilling to say that word in case it brought him back to life so soon.

"It's good that you know, now, resistance is futile." Cho gave him another kiss before she stood and fixed her ruffled attire and dishevelled hair. She looked at him with a grin, her eyes sparkling. "Just so you know, I wouldn't be opposed to a repeat performance. Something to keep in mind." She moved toward the door but stopped before leaving and rushed back to give Harry one last kiss, taking her time with it. She hurried out the door but not before throwing him a cheeky wink, knowing the last kiss left Harry breathless.

"Minx," Harry groused once he gathered his breath and stood to return to his friends. A quick wave of his wand to learn the time later, his pace increased, only now realising how long their little escapade took. He entered the compartment to find a somewhat tense silence. Neville was shifting on his seat nervously while next to him, Ron was grinning widely. Hermione was glaring out the window at something only she could see, same as Ginny, and Luna was...

 _Well, she is Luna. That's all I need to say about her._

He ignored the warning signs and made for his trunk to take out his school robe.

He had half out when Hermione deemed to acknowledge his presence. "Did you have a nice conversation?"

"Yep," Harry said cheerfully, not recognising the danger signs in her voice. "I apologised, she apologised, we agreed there wasn't a future for us at this time and to stay friends."

He stood and turned to Hermione to find her staring at him puzzled, her expression copied by everyone else but Luna. "Then why are your clothes and hair all ruffled?"

"Oh, we had a little make-out session," Harry answered nonchalantly, unwilling to lie to _her_. Though if he was honest with himself, he'd admit he also wanted to find out her reaction. He wasn't disappointed as her eyes flashed with anger, fueled by jealousy, he hoped.

"Wait, you just said-" Ginny started but Harry cut her off.

"Last year, both of us were so messed up that our only kiss was a disaster," he explained as he took a seat next to Ron. "And our date... Well, the less said about it, the better. The point is, neither of us had anything good to remember our relationship by. I didn't want to remember her as the girl with wet kisses and she didn't want to remember me as the boy who freaked out when she kissed him and who left her in the middle of a date. So, we agreed to have one last, and first, make-out session to get whatever desires we had for each other out of our systems."

"So, that's it?" Ron asked, disappointed.

"Well, she did say she wouldn't say no to a repeat performance, but I don't think I will take her up on her offer."

Hermione cocked her head to a side and frowned. "Why not?"

Harry looked her right in the eye and smiled as he answered, "I have someone else in mind for girlfriend department. Someone who I think will be an _extraordinary_ match for me."

And that was it. Though his friends continued to pepper him with questions, he stayed tight-lipped as the train rushed towards their destination, unwilling to kiss and tell.

 _Whoever said there is no place like home_ _was right,_ Harry thought as the magnificent castle of Hogwarts appeared in its undisputed glory behind the trees. The green-eyed wizard sensed a tingle of welcome in his spine even at this distance and his breath hitched at the rush of warmth and so many other emotions.

 _I wonder,_ he mused, _if my home loves me as much as I love it?_

The young wizard closed his eyes, letting himself experience the magic of the school even more by muting his five senses and focusing on the sixth.

For the last week, his meditation techniques had brought forth a new side effect, a wondrous one: he could sense magic. Not see, smell, hear, taste or feel magic. Sense magic. The sensations were nothing like any of those five senses. So, he dubbed it the sixth sense. _And hey, maybe this is the sixth sense some Muggles claim to possess._

So, when he closed his eyes and opened his mind to it, he could sense, albeit weakly, the school's magic as tendrils of it wrapped around him in a tender embrace and whispered sweet-nothings he was unable to decipher in his ears.

He giggled as he opened his eyes with a new shine to them and turned a wide smile at his friends. "I _fucking_ love this place."

"Must you be so crass, Harry?" Hermione complained, though, the small smile on her lips betrayed her joy.

Harry winked at his always proper friend and shared a grin with his almost always improper one. _Perhaps they sense it too._ "Yes, I must, because saying 'I love this place' just doesn't convey how much I do."

 _Not a bad start to the semester._

| O |

September 2, 1996

 _Damn you, Hogwarts, for forcing me to wake up at such an early hour and endure this stairway to hell,_ Harry thought as he groggily made his way down the moving stairs. Even in his half-asleep state, he enjoyed the tingle of amusement that went down on his spine as the stairs he was on top of changed directions, taking him away from his destination. _This is getting ridiculous! At this speed, I'll never make it to class, let alone breakfast._

This had been happening all morning, whenever he stepped on a staircase, it moved. He had, as of that moment, spent half an hour on the stairs, trying and failing to get to the ground floor. The castle was playing with him like he was a rat in a magical maze and Harry was stuck between amusement and exasperation.

Harry glanced around, looking for an alternative way down to Great Hall. He realised he was on this floor for the third time and had only two options; climb the stairs back and wait for it to move again or enter the corridor Hogwarts definitely wanted him to enter.

He shrugged his shoulders and did as Hogwarts bid and was assaulted by an intense satisfaction. _Who thought it was a good idea to turn a bloody building self-aware?_ Still, there was nothing he could do but to follow his home's _suggestions,_ so he traversed the corridor, his mind waking up in case of another one of his adventures. He may love the castle but his faced far too many dangers in it to not stay vigilant.

Odd statues of wizards and witches in various fighting stances and with different injuries lined up on both sides of the fourth-floor corridor. He thought nothing of the statues until he passed one that looked just like him. He froze mid-step and slowly turned around. _This is freaky._

Any doubt he had of the statue's origin vanished when he took in the details. It wasn't just the hair, the scar, the clothes the stone boy had that sealed the deal, it was the other details. The statue carried a sword far too big for his small hands, the name of the founder of Harry's house carved into the deadly work of art. On his other hand, he had a huge fang with poison and blood dripping off of it, the poison Harry was familiar with and blood Harry carried in his veins. The boy was holding on to right forearm gingerly to stop the bleeding, his clothes covered in his life's blood and dirt.

Harry looked at himself as he was right after he killed the basilisk just as a fang pierced his arm. The pain, desperation and determination on his face choked him up as he remembered the chaos of the moment and the simplicity. He had known, at that moment the statue depicted, he would die and all that was left was taking his murderer with him and saving an innocent girl's life.

After what felt like hours but probably wasn't more than a few minutes of taking in the statue and remembering the moment, Harry glanced down at the foot of it, to the golden plaque there. Written on it in blood red was 'Harry Potter - 25/05/1992'.

He kneeled in front of himself and reached out with a shaky hand to touch the plaque, dragging his hand tenderly on the writing. A sense of admiration, appreciation and pride surged through him as soon as he touched it, and he lost the fight to his tears as all those emotions, mixed with acceptance and welcome, hit him at full force, opening a damn and stealing sobs from him.

Harry didn't know how long he kneeled there, crying yet feeling more peaceful and content than he ever had in his short life, more than even during or after his brief encounter with Cho at the express. The young boy stood on shaky, numb legs and cleaned his face as much as he can with the sleeve of his robes, not wanting anyone to see the evidence of his emotions.

To the left of an ornate, wooden door with intricate carvings of various runes on it, a torched flared briefly, catching Harry's eyes and telling him where he needed to go next. Harry pushed open the door to a large room, almost half as big as Great Hall, empty except the dozens of chairs lined up against one wall. _This is perfect for D.A,_ Harry realised as he understood why the castle led him there. _There is no need for secrecy so no need to hole up in Room of Requirements._

All he needed now to restart was a few targets and reference books on defence. There was nothing he could do in there at the moment so Harry left, a wide smile gracing his lips. The stairs complied with his needs and he made it to Great Hall with a skip on his steps, his book bag dangling on his shoulder.

Without slowing down, he made his way to where his friends sat, whispering to each other furiously, and sat heavily next to Hermione, causing her to jump up.

"Harry! Where have you been? You almost missed the breakfast. Professor McGonagall was furious," Hermione said in one breath, surprising Harry with her lung capacity once again.

Before Harry could answer, the said professor stomped her way to them, her lips pressed together and eyes narrowed. "How nice of you to grace us with your presence, Mr. Potter."

"Did you know there is a statue of me on the fourth floor, Professor?" Harry asked after turning around to face the music. The professor's face screwed up in confusion while her eyes and mouth opened in surprise. "Imagine my surprise when the moving staircases led me there, insistently I might add, and I came across a stone version of myself."

"That's ridiculous, Potter," the transfiguration mistress claimed when she gathered her wits.

Harry smiled and leaned back. "You would think so, right? Oh, and I found the perfect classroom for D.A at the end of the same corridor, leading me to believe my involuntary expedition was for a purpose."

McGonagall seemed unsure whether she wanted to reprimand him for making up stories or to faint in surprise. "Why don't you show me this incredible discovery while we create your schedule," she asked, the order clear in her tone.

Harry nodded but didn't leave his seat. "Can I, at least, grab a sandwich? I'm famished and I don't doubt I must endure Snape's class today. I think none of us wants to learn what happens when a hungry Potter meets a... well, regular Snape."

"That's five points for disrespecting a teacher, Potter. Do hurry. The classes will begin in less than half an hour."

After Harry made short work of preparing himself a sandwich, he led McGonagall and his friends, who refused to stay back, to the fourth floor. "That's Godric Gryffindor," Hermione announced in a shocked voice, pointing at the first statue on the left.

Harry stepped next to her and examined the statue with interest, only now realising the tall and muscular man had the same sword in his hand that his statue did. "Really?"

"There is no portrait of him but there are books describing how he looked," Hermione explained with a nod. "And the plaque at the bottom of the statue was a big clue."

The boy snorted as he saw the plaque and bumped the girl's shoulder with his.

"You didn't know this was him, did you?" she asked, amusement colouring her voice.

"I was in a hurry and there are so many statues in this castle, I find stopping to examine them in detail to be far too time-consuming," Harry defended himself, raising his nose.

McGonagall looked as if she wanted to stay in front of the statue of the red-headed man for many years, but gathered herself. "Enough dillydallying. Let us see this statue of yours, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded and led them deeper into the corridor, stopping in front of his likeness and waving his hand towards it, "Tada!"

He turned around to see three friends and a professor gawking at the statue in shock, mouths hanging open.

A few minutes in silence later, McGonagall regained her mental faculties first. "And you have no idea who's behind this?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm not vain enough to carve a statue of myself and the only one who could depict that scene accurately would be Professor Dumbledore. Somehow, I doubt he's behind this."

"Th-That's the fang that pierced your arm?" Hermione asked in a shaky voice and wide, teary eyes. Harry nodded, smiling softly at the girl.

"A bloody dagger, more like," Ron commented, white as a sheet. "Literally bloody," he added when McGonagall turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

Ginny, meanwhile, was shaking where she stood, looking at where the stone Harry's hand with the fang was, blood leaking out of the wound underneath. Only now, seeing her reaction, Harry realised how hard this must be for her, the memento of what her mistake almost cost.

Harry gently wrapped the girl in his arms, holding her head to his chest as the girl finally let go of the sobs she was holding. "Shh. It's okay, I'm fine, Ginny."

"Yo-You almost died," the red-headed girl cried, fisting his robe as she continued to sniff, making a cynical part of Harry's brain wonder if he would need to change robes. "Because of me, you almost died. All those petrified people..."

"You made a mistake and learned from it," Harry said, glancing around him, at Ron, Hermione and McGonagall for help and seeing them just as lost as he felt. "Just like what happened last year, Riddle manipulated you. You were only eleven and adapting to a new place away from your parents. You can't blame yourself."

Ginny sniffed one last time before she looked up, her brown eyes wide and beautiful. "You don't blame me?"

"I don't," Harry confirmed, much to her relief.

She cleaned her eyes on her sleeve, unknowingly copying Harry's actions from earlier before stepping away from Harry shyly.

The green-eyed wizard turned around and, ignoring McGonagall's little smile, walked towards _his_ classroom. "This will be perfect for the association meetings. A simple room with lots of space and more than a few chairs for people to rest on."

McGonagall looked around in interest and nodded at Harry. "I see you had a productive morning, Mr. Potter, so I will refrain from docking points for your tardiness," she informed him with a tiny smirk, almost impossible to see if you don't know her. "Now, what courses do you plan on taking?"

"Defence, Transfiguration, Charms and Creatures," Harry answered straight away.

"No potions?" the professor asked with a raised eyebrow. "I thought you wanted to be an auror."

Harry shrugged. "I don't know what I want to be, though being an auror is an option I will consider, but you said I needed an Outstanding in potions to take the NEWT-level course. I only managed Exceeded Expectations."

"That was true for Professor Snape. Professor Slughorn, on the other hand, is much more flexible about the students he accepts into his NEWT classes."

"Oh. I wish I had known. Haven't bought the sixth year potions book because I thought I wouldn't be allowed in," Harry said, scratching the back of his head and messing his hair even more.

"I'm sure Horace won't mind lending you a book until you can get your own via owl order, Mr. Potter," the teacher answered. "That makes five courses. Acceptable."

"Actually," Harry cut in before the woman could mark his timetable. "If I will take Potions, I'll drop Creatures. I only added to fill my timetable. I plan on taking Magical Theory as an extracurricular and talk to the respective professors for the possibility of one on one in Arithmancy and Runes to catch up."

McGonagall's eyebrows rose in surprise before she gave Harry a once-over like she wasn't sure of his identity. "Pray tell, where did this sudden studious nature of yours come from? That's an ambitious course load for a student with your... track record."

Harry smiled, ignoring his friends' synchronised snorts, and explained. "Bill gave me a book on curse breaking for my birthday, as you may remember. I found it very enjoyable and seeing as I don't have a well-defined career plan, I thought I'd at least make sure I have that option available." He cocked his head to a side.

The Scottish lady looked impressed and gave a nod. "I'll talk with Septima and Bathsheda and see if they can make time for you. Normally, I'd insist you take at least five courses but I'm willing to let you get away with it. Be warned, if I see you waste your free time, I will fill that time with an endless series of detentions."

Harry gave the head of his house a salute. "Yes, ma'am. It's not like Hermione won't find a project to fill my time, anyway."

The said girl huffed but didn't refute his claim while McGonagall waved her wand at the parchment in her hand. "There you go, Mr. Potter. You should hurry or you will be late to the first lesson of the semester and I'm unwilling to hear Severus complain about you this early in the term."

Harry cast a quick Tempus charm and nodded before bolting out of the classroom with his friends. Turns out, the transfiguration professor had warned them in time as they made it to the class a second before Snape emerged from his new office. "I see your new responsibility as a pseudo teacher has given you the impression you can come and go to my class as you wish, Mr. Potter. That's ten points you cost your house," the man drawled, a small smirk playing in his lips.

The boy just nodded, way too out of breath to come up with a snarky response. _Which is the only way I can keep my tongue to myself, it seems._

The newly minted defence professor began a twenty-minute lecture on the wonders and dangers of dark arts, not even trying to disguise his fascination with the subject. "Now, you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a spell cast with no words?"

Hermione's hand was, predictably, the first one to rise, followed by no one else for a long moment before Harry decided to test the waters and see if Snape planned on murdering him. _Something I wouldn't put past any defence professor, let alone_ this _one._

"Very well, give us your insight, Mr. Potter," the man drawled sarcastically.

"It's a nice way to keep your opponent off balance. If you don't shout your spell at their face, they will have to make an educated guess which will steal from their response time, making defending against and counter-attacking difficult." Snape gave him a deadpan look so Harry added, "Sir."

"As much as it _disgusts_ me to say, Mr. Potter is essentially correct. Those who can cast spells without voicing incantations will have an element of surprise against their opponent. Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of concentration and," he looked right at Harry before continuing, "mind power which some lack."

 _I hate how good he is in insulting me without_ insulting _me._

"You will now divide into pairs. One partner will try to jinx the other _without speaking._ The other will try to defend themselves in equal silence."

The class divided into twos, Harry joining Hermione, knowing if he stayed with Ron, neither of them would get anywhere while Hermione would be one of the first to manage silent casting, challenging him to match her. The practical started as one would expect, students whispering the incantations instead of keeping their mouth shut.

Harry, being the gentleman he is, waved Hermione to go first, feeling Snape's eyes on the back of his head. He used the time Hermione's unsuccessful tries gave him on opening his mind, moving his body in small yet elegant motions. It didn't take him long to sense the surrounding magic; the spells rushing between the students and the old charms littering the walls of the classroom.

After ten minutes of trying, Hermione managed to cast a jelly-legs jinx silently, the first one in the room to do so, and Harry swiped his wand upwards, willing a shield to form. He was half-successful as the spell changed course instead of stopping. _Still, not bad for a first try._

His brown-eyed partner must have felt the same as she beamed a proud smile at him, making his insides turn to mush. Harry shook his head to focus his thoughts and responded with a similar smile. "Not a bad start, I'd say. Let's see if I can cast it."

He focused on his task, not moving for a minute until he gave an overhand wave with his wand, tingles shooting out of his hand, through his wand, into the air. Bolts and bolts of electricity, not enough to cause damage but enough to give anyone a jolt, shot down from the air to Hermione.

Harry's sudden move and the non-coloured spell caught her off-guard, the bolts hitting her in the head and chest, causing electricity to travel through her sweater and her hair to stand up. Harry couldn't help but laugh at the reddening of Hermione's face as she tried and failed to turn her back to the normal level of bushiness.

"Stop laughing!" she hissed, not loud enough to attract attention, yet it was unnecessary as the whole class was watching them after the light show Harry's jinx created. "Ugh! How am I ever going to fix my hair now?"

"If it's any consolation, I see little difference, Miss Granger," Snape drawled as he walked towards them.

"It really isn't," Hermione grumbled under her breath, still heard by Snape.

"Why don't we see if it was a stroke of luck or if you cheated, Mr. Potter? Defend yourself." As soon as the last word was out of his mouth, a spell left Snape's wand, hurrying right at Harry.

The green-eyed wizard didn't have the time to think, his wand moving up reflexively and a transparent shield forming in front of him, stopping the spell successfully this time. He hesitated all of one second before giving a wave with his wand, casting the same jinx at his professor this time. _I wonder how his hair would look as opposed to Hermione's,_ was his only thought.

Sadly for his fantasies, the surprise attack didn't faze the professor enough and he sent the jinx back at Harry with a smirk and without a reflective shield.

 _I didn't know such a thing was possible._ Harry cast another shield, reflective this time, and sent the jinx back. They traded the same jinx back and forth before the spell fizzled out and the professor cast a disarming charm.

Harry had, throughout the exchange of tempest jinx between Snape and him, watched the man's hand motions and tried to sense how the man's magic acted for him to send it back with no shield. It was a manipulation of magic, not a spell he himself cast. Snape had changed the momentum of Harry's jinx, turning it backwards.

The boy did not understand how the oily-haired man had done this but he wanted, needed, to learn how to do it himself. So, instead of casting a shield, reflective or otherwise, he focused on the spell's signature and willed it back. _It worked,_ Harry yelled in his mind, celebrating far too early as the same spell hit him in the chest a moment later. He landed on his arse, watching as his Holly wand flew to the smirking defence teacher.

Snape twirled the boy's wand in his hand and tilted his head, his expression changing into one of surprise. "It seems you aren't completely useless, Mr. Potter. This is the second time you surprised me." His smirk returned and Harry was sure that was all the 'compliment' he would receive from the man. "One point to Gryffindor."

Harry's eyes widened in shock, his mouth agape before he realised _that_ actually happened. "Thank you for your generosity, _sir,_ " he shot, high on the joy of his success.

Snape nodded, letting his cheek go unpunished for this once before he threw Harry's wand back at him and turned to the rest of the class. "I thought I told you to practice."

"Snape gave you a point!" Ron exclaimed once they left the classroom. "That has to be the first point Snape ever awarded a Gryffindor."

"Not a bad start for the term, eh?" Harry joked, oddly pleased with himself for making Snape do what he thought was impossible.

 _Certainly not a bad start to the semester._

| O |

Two hours and a break for Harry and Ron while an arithmancy lesson for Hermione later the trio descended to the dungeons. They reached the familiar corridor to find it occupied by nine other students other than the three. _Only twelve. I guess aurors and healers are unnecessary if only this many people could potentially apply._

Not a moment after three friends made it near the door, it opened and a belly peaked out of the room, its owner hid behind the door frame. Harry snorted at the image Slughorn created as he filed into the class with the rest. He gave a respectful nod in response to the professor's enthusiastic greeting and sat between Ron and Hermione, his senses tingling.

A long moment passed until he realised why: the dungeon had transformed under Slughorn's command, the years of slime cleaned off, colourful vapours rising from cauldrons.

His inspection was cut by Ernie McMillan who sat next to Hermione, earning glares from the other two boys, though neither disliked him. The blonde boy looked unsure for a moment before shrugging off the glares. "Hey, Harry. Hermione, Ron. Didn't have time to talk to you in Defence this morning. Good lesson, even with Snape. But shield charms are old hat for us, the Association members."

Before either of the three could respond, Slughorn walked to the centre of the classroom to begin the class. "Now, then. Scales out, everyone, and potion kits. Don't forget your books..."

"Sir?" said Harry, raising his hand.

"Yes, Harry?"

"I have nothing. Neither does Ron. We didn't realise we'd be able to take the NEWT-level because of Snape's requirements, you see."

"Ah, yes, Professor McGonagall mentioned something like that. Not to worry, dear boy. You both can use ingredients from the store today, and I'm sure you can find a readable copy of the book from the pile here," he said. He walked to a corner cupboard and emerged with two scales and two books, both battered beyond belief.

"Now then," Slughorn began as he returned to the front of the class, "I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at. Just to see if you'll recognise any of them. These are the sort of potions you will be able to brew after competing your NEWT-levels. You should have heard of them if not made them yet. Who can tell me what this one is?"

No one was surprised to see Hermione's hand already in air and Slughorn cheerfully pointed at the enthusiastic girl. "It's veritaserum, sir. A colourless, odourless and tasteless potion that compels the drinker to tell the truth. Restricted per Ministry regulations."

"Great answer, Miss Granger. Take five points for a detailed answer," the professor gushed. "Now, this one is pretty well-known. Featured in many a ministry leaflets lately. One among you has even brewed it in the past. Go ahead, Miss Granger."

Hermione blushed but answered nonetheless, "It's polyjuice potion, sir. Allows for the drinker to take the form of anyone as long as they have a hair sample or a similar body part of the target."

"Excellent, excellent. Now, this one here... oh, yes, go ahead, my dear," Slughorn said, an amused smile on his lips.

"Amortentia. The most powerful love potion."

"Quite right. Take another ten points, dear," he praised with a proud smile. "Amortentia doesn't really create _love._ It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, it will cause a powerful infatuation, an obsession, if you will. It is probably the most powerful potion in this room. The smell coming from it changes according to a person's preferences. For example, I smell lilies, sweet wine and," he gave a sniff, "yes, a well-done steak. How about you, missy?""

Hermione visibly hesitated before answering, "I can smell freshly mown grass, new parchment and-" She didn't finish, blushing furiously she shook her head.

Curious, Harry leaned in to sniff the potion, a mixture of most delicious smells attacking his nose; treacle tart, the woody smell of a broomstick and _Hermione_.

 _Okay, that was oddly specific. Nothing I didn't know, though, so no need to stay frozen like this_

Harry shook his head and focused on his teacher in time to hear tim say, "And now, it is time for us to start work."

He waited for a breath to add drama. "But before we do, who can tell me what this is? Anyone?" Not even Hermione's hand rose this time, though Slughorn didn't look surprised at all. "It's called Felix Felicis, or liquid luck. It makes the drinker lucky, so to say. Drink a tablespoon and you'll have the most amazing and lucky twelve hours of your life."

"You sound like you are speaking from experience, sir," Harry commented, curious how that was possible. Magic, in his experience, affected people and objects, not reality; and what Slughorn was saying sounded like a reality-altering potion.

Slughorn gave a booming laugh, his already strained shirt almost popping. "Twice in my life. Once when I was twenty-four, once when I was fifty-seven. Two perfect days," he finished dreamily, staring into the distance in remembrance. "And this little bottle," he said, shaking the said bottle, "will be the prize for the most well-brewed potion today."

"Turn page ten of your books. Go on. You have a little over an hour which should be enough to brew a decent draught of the living death. I know it is more complex than any other potions you brewed until today - except for polyjuice you brewed, Miss Granger - so I don't expect perfect results. Whoever comes closest will win a perfect day."

Harry, like everyone else, attacked the task at hand with fervour, wanting to win the best prize a teacher could set. He opened his book to find handwritings of the previous owner, a boy by the small scribblings. Even the instructions of the potion he was about the brew had handwritings all over them, changes to the potion.

Harry hesitated, unsure whether he should trust the previous owner or do the sensible thing and follow the book's instructions. _I guess that settles it. Do the foolish thing._ He grinned to himself and did so.

"And time's... up!" Slughorn called and Harry glanced up from his potion in surprise, unable to comprehend how so much time could have passed so fast, in a potions lesson no less.

 _I guess not having Snape as a teacher makes potions fun._

"Stop stirring, please." Slughorn moved among the tables, peering into cauldrons with no comments, positive or negative. When he reached Harry and his friends' table, he gave a rueful smile at Ron's tar-like result and passed with only a glance over Ernie's. After an approving nod at Hermione for her success, he froze, his eyes on Harry's pale potion. An incredulous delight spread over his face and he beamed at Harry. "The clear winner! Excellent, Harry. Good lord, you must share Lily's talent at potions. A perfect brew on your first try. Incredible! Here you are then," he said, taking the bottle of the prize out of his robe's pocket. "One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised. Use it well, dear boy!"

Harry slipped the bottle with golden liquid into his pocket and grinned at the man, ignoring the dumbfounded looks on his friends' faces.

"How did you do that?" Ron asked as they left the dungeon, disbelief clear in his tone.

"Followed instructions. Duh!" Harry announced grandly, grinning like a loon at the way his luck brought him more luck. His good mood didn't last when Hermione scoffed at his response. "I suppose you think I cheated?"

The girl sighed and turned to him as they reached the Gryffindor table. "It wasn't exactly your own work, was it?"

Ron looked confused, still not knowing Harry followed other instructions, while Harry narrowed his eyes at the brown-eyed girl. "I followed the suggestions of someone who's evidently an expert on the subject, seeing as his instructions got better results. How is it that's cheating?"

"Hang on," said a familiar voice from Harry's left. "Did I hear right? You've been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry?" Ginny asked, her tone alarmed and angry.

"Yep," Harry answered with a false cheer. "It's got a scribbled notes on the margin and on top of the original instructions."

"And you are doing what it says?"

Hermione leaned into Harry, her smell intoxicating Harry for a moment, a victorious expression on her face. "Ginny's got a point, Harry."

"Not really. It's not like the book tells me anything. It's just an old textbook, on which a fellow student wrote notes for himself. No one slipped it into my bag. The student didn't know I or anyone else would have it." He sighed when he realised neither girl seemed convinced. "It is no different from following the original instructions."

"It's different," Hermione scoffed. "The book, _Advanced Potion-Making_ , is a ministry-approved book, accepted by the experts of the field."

"Need I remind you last year, Hermione? Umbridge and Slinkhard ring any bells? Besides, you are talking as if there are no advances to be made in potions. No new discoveries and better methods." He shook his head, disappointed at the reactions of his friends, though understanding their worries. "I took a risk by following the suggestions of the previous owner, and it paid off. I will investigate the source but I don't plan on giving up an advantage."

Hermione sighed and nodded. "Just... Please, be careful. There is no telling what whoever wrote on it could be like. It may have been just a fluke."

Harry grinned and winked at the girl. "I will, I promise. Though, I won't promise not to outshine you in potions with my new book," he said cheekily, hugging the said book to his chest. "You'll just have to get used to coming behind me in another subject."

The girl laughed at his tactless action. "We both know your success depends on your precious little book. Take away your book and what are you?"

"Handsome," Harry responded, cocking his head to a side and giving a half a grin.

"Well, there is that," Hermione agreed, then froze and blushed when she realised what she said.

 _Yeah, there is that, I guess,_ Harry thought cheerfully, giving the brightest smile he could manage.

 _A great start to the semester._


End file.
